


Dishonored

by h0neybeebear



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Addiction, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Heavy Angst, Overdosing, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-02-23 14:18:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13191870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h0neybeebear/pseuds/h0neybeebear
Summary: What is trust when your own body works against you? What is love when all you can ever do is take and take? What happens when you have harvested so much from the other person's heart that they finally learn to take it all back?





	1. Downfall

**Post "Rapist Anonymous"**

* * *

 

_Amanda_

It's not as if I want to prey on her weakness. I wish selfishness would be the last thing from my mind. I wish my motives were pure, that I have no intention of lying to her; but even as I'm standing at her door, I must push down the the reeking stench of lustful greed and indulgence which seems to steep from my very fingertips, and the pores on my face. I must hide from her my sole motivation for dragging myself to her feet.

I'm here to drown myself in her; to chase away the demons that I have willingly run back to time and again. I'm here, at the end of my rope, when all other vices have used me up and dumped me upon the corner of her sidewalk. I'm standing here, spent and strung out on the last of my heathen abandon, praying she'll take the final, shattered pieces of me just one more time.

The last time we ended it she told me to go do as I pleased until I didn't want it anymore.

 _I can't help you, Amanda._  She said, and I remember well the pain apparent upon every drawn line of her visage as if I had carved it into the very flesh of her.  _Just go. Do what whatever you want._

A whine rises on my lips as I resist the urge to knock again. I've already slammed my knuckles on the wooden barrier between us half a dozen times, punishing my raw flesh with the force of my pleading.

 _I don't want it anymore._   _I don't want it anymore._  I repeat to myself, clutching the doorframe, just waiting for it to open, begging for it to open before my knees give way.

God, I'm a fucking mess, still half drunk. My hands are trembling. My stomach is turning. There's dirty cash in my back pocket, but she can't know that.

I barely managed to break even at the table tonight, and if I hadn't been so distraught, I might have foolishly continued; but then I had to remind myself the reasons I was there to begin with…. Lena, Nate… how I was caught in between, always a second choice. Olivia… how I've never even let myself be important to anyone who's ever truly mattered.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I lean harder on the door frame, repeating my carefully rehearsed lines to myself, the ones I've told myself she'll believe.

 _Please, please, please._ I beg to the stalwart door and to the woman beyond.  _God, please…_

Utter silence greets me with a disturbing buzz which fills my ears. It seems to laugh at me with a boisterous voice, taunting me with how pathetic I am.

It's commiserable that I am here with such intentions, but I know that she too doesn't want to be alone tonight. I know what the upcoming trial and Lewis is doing to her, and if I can offer her my company for even tonight, then maybe we can both wake up tomorrow without our hearts shattered at our feet. If she doesn't let me in out of love, then perhaps I will take pity.

And then, as if God above had been waiting for that wretched thought, I hear her footsteps. Heavy and quick, they converge upon me, and I gasp, my breath wavering from me.

It's late, and I've no doubt awoken her, but the clenching of my stomach at her reaction is something I can disregard. I can dampen her initial frustration with the tears that glimmer in my eyes, appealing to the tender part of her that once unfolded to my touch at a simple brush of my fingers.

I can hear the deadbolts turning, and I grab at my stomach with the other hand as my gut twists with apprehension. Despite all of my reckless reasoning, I'm terrified - terrified she'll turn me away, terrified that it will mean forever… if it isn't already.

Light spills out across my tear-stained, flushed face, searing my eyes with blinding precision. I've spent the better part of the night in dark, smoke-filled rooms with only my tears to water my vision. When I look up, the drunken part of me thinks about how angelic she is, shrouded in light.

"Amanda?" Her sharp, confused utterance shatters whatever delusion I have of her swooping down to rescue the last broken bits of my soul.

Shielding my eyes with one hand, I squint back at her, clenching my jaw against the swirling of my tummy.

"Hey." I reply, my tone raspy, though I do my best not to slur.

Her face is full of shock, but I ignore that for the sight of her soft hair pulled back in a messy ponytail at her neck, stray hairs curling around her temples and jaw. There's no makeup on her face, darkness circling her eyes. Maybe neither of us has slept tonight, but I don't care how weary she looks. My throat is tight with her beauty.

"What are you doing here?" She demands as her surprise melds into frustration.

"I…. I need to talk to you…" I whisper.

Her brow tightens, and she glances back inside the apartment before stepping out into the hall. Wrapping her robe tighter around her body, she hides what flesh I might have sought to lay my eyes on. The door swings closed behind her, plunging us into a half lit darkness that pleases the unorthodox fantasies that are swirling through my brain.

"What do you want?" She asks in a quieter but tense tone.

"I- I'm quitting." I say, ducking my chin, though I know looking away is a sign of lying.

I can feel the air about me crackle with her tension, and out of the corner of my eye I notice her shoulders stiffening. She's silent for several long seconds, and my stomach swan dives. I'm not sure what I'll do if she doesn't believe me.

"I'm done." I whisper, glancing up at her quickly. "Nate… the gambling….I don't want it anymore…"

She's watching me, arms crossed, jaw taut and jutting. Her defenses are up, and I shouldn't blame her. It shouldn't be her responsibility to put me back together every time I come flying apart at the seams. She shouldn't have to witness the pathetic aftermath of me every, single time I crawl back to the same, old vices, yet here I am, expecting just that. I should be ashamed, but my damaged heart longs for her with an ache that I can't ignore.

"Why are you telling me this?" She asks, austerely, at last.

I falter, my mind turning over. I can't just tell her that I want things as they were, when we'd find ourselves in bed together, a mess of arms and legs and desire. I can't simply tell her that I'm here for the comfort of her body, and the knowledge that she once cared for me more than anyone else ever has - but she must sense it.

"You said I should go do what I want." I remind her, biting at my lower lip.

She nods, slowly, glancing away, and I catch the incredulous look in her gaze before the loose strands of hair fall across her cheekbone.

"Right." She murmurs with a scoff.

It's dismissive of my whining and coaxing, and of the much deeper needs that she must understand, even now. Despite the doubt that her attitude pummels me with, I try once more to draw out the passion that once burned in her gaze when she looked at me.

"You said I should go do what I want until I don't want it anymore." I repeat, desperately. "So I'm telling you I don't want it anymore."

"I know what I said." She finally replies, tone sharp and biting as she turns a narrowed gaze back upon me. "But that wasn't a promise that we'd be together."

"B-but…"I begin, tearing away from the wall and rushing to her. "You said maybe then…."

She purses her lips, gazing down at me with guarded eyes that cause me to wither instantly. There might as well be a steel wall surrounding her because I feel so far from her.

"Do you expect me simply believe you?" She asks, at last, and I see the first tremble of emotion on her lips. "Why should I listen to your words when all of your actions have told me otherwise?"

I swallow hard, my heart racing, my stomach turning. I know she's right, and that I have no place to stand here and demand a second chance, but I have to find some way behind her armoured heart because I need her so badly.

"Why are you doing this?" I whimper, clutching my hands in front of me as my chest aches with the weight of her rejection.

Her eyes flash in the dim lighting and she shakes her head, turning away to skim her hand over her tired expression.

"This isn't some sort of punishment, Amanda." She says at last, her tone low and strained. "This is just the point where I have to protect myself now. You are not the only person in this equation."

I sink back against the wall once more as her words suck the air from my lungs. It's hurts even more to know that what she's said is true. She has put her own neck on the line so many times to give me a second chance, and I have taken her grace again and again until we have reached this moment - this moment where that tender well of mercy has run dry onto my ever wanting tongue.

A long silence fills the hall, resonating with the dying echoes of my pleas. I sag against the wall, watching her blur through my vision.

I imagine dragging myself home to my empty, cold bed. I imagine the utter loneliness that will fill me once the buzz has worn off, and the burn of her rejection has faded. Here the harsh hand of truth chokes me. There's no path towards redemption without her. I am not so righteous as to follow that narrow trail alone, yet I've found myself here in the dark of my own accord.

Finally, she shakes her head, her mouth tightening against the emotion.

"I have to prepare my testimony with Rafael tomorrow morning." She says at last, her tone a raspy whisper. "Please leave."

Her words sear me, but when she turns towards the door as if to end this conversation before it's even begun, an impetuous jolt of desperation runs through my veins.

I'm not certain of much, but this I do know - I want her back, and in the deepest part of me, I know that I need her.

Foolishly, I rush closer to her and put a hand on her, clutching her arm to stop her. The silk of her robe is slippery beneath my fingers, her skin warm beneath. It ignites the fiery sensation of vivid memories, of tearing away that very material from her flesh in search of a deeper connection.

She halts, staring down at my trembling fingers with a look I can barely discern. Whether it's desire or disgust, I cannot say. All I know is that I've kept her next to me for now.

"Please." I whisper, staring back at her as tears sprout against my lids, burning me with their sudden intensity.

I'm trying not to think about the past, and to shove all of my desire into this single moment; but, God, it's hard to forget when she's in front of me, soft and vulnerable. I came here for the pure, hedonistic fulfillment of another human body, but even the most base desires inside me are wrapped up in the love she once so willingly gave me.

"Olivia…" I barely manage to whimper past the chokehold of desire and desperation. "Please, I'm hurting...I just need someone...you…"

For a moment, I see the emotion simmer in her gaze, a tiny crack in her armour that I want to squeeze myself through, but then she's pulling away from me in better judgement, letting my heart free fall towards the ground.

"I can't do this tonight, Amanda." She says, quickly, grabbing the door handle, ready to leave me outside in the cold.

"Please, I'm not expecting anything." I beg, rushing after her, grabbing her arm once more.

I just can't keep my filthy fingers away from the soft, pure curves of her. I've left her with dirt smeared across her face so many times, walking away, spitefully, even as she cleans her own wounds. I don't deserve to be here, but I want to take it so badly. I want my fingerprints on her flesh, more than I've ever desired my freedom. It's a fleeting concept when I'm shackled with heartbreak and debt; when she's standing in front of me, real and raw.

"You don't have to forgive me or anything." I plead, grasping her hip with my other hand.

She's rigid beneath me, one hand clenched around the knob, the other flat against door, trembling. She lowers her head, and I press in closer until my body is against her back. I can smell her hair, feel the smallest quiver.

"Liv…" I moan, my fingers twisting in the material of her gown.

I want so badly to plunge my hands beneath the silken gown and pluck the ripened fruit of her soft flesh, but her consent has been taken from me, and all I can do is pitifully beg her for it once more. I should be humiliated with myself, but all logic has been abandoned in this vile pursuit.

"You can hurt me if you want." I whisper into her neck.

The sadistic appeal is blasted in heavy pants across her flesh, rising in intensity as I reach the breaking point of desperation.

"I don't care. I'll be whatever you want. A dirty slut, a -"

She spins around, abruptly, in the middle of my offering, shoving me, forcefully, away from her body. I stumble back, searching for my footing. I'm reeling as our eyes clash, hers full of anger and desire, sadness and loathing. I'm frozen in the sudden waves of emotion rolling off of her, but then, suddenly, she's upon me.

She grabs my face, her grip trembling, nails biting. I'm backed up against the wall, cowering beneath her as she hovers over me, her darkened, conflicted face bare inches from mine, so close I can feel her breath. My heart thunders in my chest, warmth spilling through my core with liquid, surging heat. The force of her anger, the threat of physical violence against me, should've frightened and horrified me, but all I can do is quiver beneath her, my body nearly begging for some kind of brutality - anything to soothe this wretched need inside me.

For several intense moments I can feel her wavering on the edge, at the brink of her emotional limits, and in the midst of my desire, I hate myself even more for pushing such a tender soul as herself to this edge.

At last, her fingers lose their tremble as she buttons the gushing emotions back up behind a layer of solid self control.

"Stop." She rasps the single word at last, her tone biting and clipped.

I whimper, sinking against the wall, hoping that perhaps she'll shove me down to her feet. I would beg for her until my knees ache and my throat is raw with screaming. I would do whatever I have to.

She pants above me, pulling in heavy, measured breaths as she lowers her head. Her fingers clench down on my jaw, pushing my head back, and I willingly open my neck to her teeth. I quiver beneath her, waiting for her to tear into me, but I can feel her hesitation, the part of her which clings to logic and good judgement. I want to push her. I want to beg her; but I am terrified of breaking this moment where she is on the edge of her own volition.

Excruciatingly long seconds drag by, leaving me whimpering and squirming beneath her until finally, she pulls back. Her hands draw roughly down my shoulders and arms before pinning me there against the wall. She stands back from me, holding me at arm's length from herself, though I can feel the magnetism between us, the desire that I have thrown a flame upon.

Still, she states, her tone choked, "I asked you to leave."

"And deny us both?" I whisper, canting my head back to stare at her from beneath heavy lids.

My pulse chugs in my neck with throbbing persistence, reminding me of the alcohol lacing my blood. I wonder if she knows. I think she must.

"Amanda…" She breathes out in a warning tone, shaking her lowered head. "I'm asking you to please…."

I listen to her strained tone trailing away into nothing for a tense moment, as if she is afraid to speak it, as if her denial will betray her; but the quiver in her body has already done just that.

"Please what?" I murmur, lifting a hand to touch her.

My fingers reach for her stomach, sliding upwards towards the low neckline of the robe. The V of the hem is barely held together by the silken belt just beneath her breasts, and when I reach that slice of flesh, she's as soft as the material itself. I release a quiet groan, but she's already snatching my wrist.

"I said stop!" Her voice nearly rises to a shout in the quiet hallways, echoing back to my ear with a desperate tremble.

I can feel her fingers quaking around my wrist. She's ducking her head to hide the tears scintillating in the darkness, yet for a long moment, she doesn't move. I can scarcely breathe, and I remain still beneath her, my heart knocking in my chest with fear, though I wish it were indifference.

I came here to fuck her, to dive into the comfort of another warm body - and still she's managed to twist my every convoluted intention with the mere sound of her voice, and emotion hiding behind her dark eyes. It hurts more knowing that even as she dangles me from her own marionette strings, I've failed to find some way back to her.

By the time she releases me, I've lapsed against the wall, deflated and weak. I watch her as she turns away, dragging one hand quickly over her face.

"Go." She whispers before marching, quickly, back to her apartment.

I don't have the strength to go after her, but when the door slams behind her, tolling against my ear with finality, I crumple. Sinking down against the wall, I collapse into a huddled position, my head cradled in my arms. For a long, strange moment I can't even cry.

I came here with the cruel contrivance of lying my way into her arms, but sitting here alone on her doorstep, crushed and dejected, I begin to wonder if I could scrounge up enough faith in myself to truly leave behind all the vices that have torn us apart.

The tears don't come until I realize I'd only be fooling myself. She's given up on me, and I might as well do the same.


	2. Decision

**Post "Psycho/Therapist"**

* * *

_Olivia_

 

_Hair styled, makeup perfect, suit ironed…_

There's not a hair out of place on the woman standing in front of me, though I'd tell her not to bite her lip. She'll wear off the lipstick.

Sighing, I lift a hand to pat the curl lying against my cheek. My appearance is immaculate, a vision crafted from my desperate attempt to not seem so unprepared for today. I've spent the better part of the morning staring in the mirror when all I'd like to do is look away.

I'm not ready. Despite all my prepping and planning, the hours I've spent ensuring that I'd be the victor today…. I'm not ready to walk into that courtroom and place Lewis's fate in the hands of the jury. My adult years have been spent depending on the justice system for fulfillment of my duties, yet when it come to my own personal fight I can hardly bear to trust it.

The what ifs have crushed me since the very first day in court. What if they don't believe me? What if they know I'm lying? What if they don't convict him? What if he gets away? What if he does it again?

What if I've placed my anticipation of closure too squarely on this expectation of justice?

There are a million horrible ways that this could end, and I have lived them all inside my head.

Glancing towards my watch I realize there's no time left for pondering if I am to make it into the courtroom on time to hear the verdict. I spare one last look in the mirror before I leave the room.

The day has come whether I'd like it too or not.

When I arrive at the courthouse, the halls are bustling. A slew of media attention has erupted around the proceedings, a fact I despise. I can hardly watch the TV anymore without seeing his face or my face splayed across the screen, voiced over by judgemental talking heads. The discourse over the whys and the hows has nearly driven me mad. Quite often they are so far from the truth, and yet, at times, almost too close for comfort.

Keeping my head lowered, I weave through the crowd, shouldering my way towards the courtroom with the hopes of escaping unnoticed.

"Wait, there she is!" I hear a man behind me exclaim, shooting a boulder of anxiety straight through my stomach.

I glanced back to see the reporter and his entourage flocking towards me, cameras, mics, and eyes jabbing at me with terrifying inquiry.

"Miss Benson, how you feel about the trial today?" The man demands, pushing in to shove a mic into my face.

Caught off guard, I stutter, trying to take a step back, only to bump into someone else. I gasp, beginning to turn, but the grasp is strong and steady on my elbow.

"That's Detective Benson to you." A familiar voice replies for me in biting condescension.

I pull away, turning about to face Amanda who has seemingly appeared out of nowhere. My heart immediately squeezes at the sight of her, throbbing in dull pain. It's never relief to see her. It's not even happiness anymore.

It's been a certain kind of excruciating hell existing in the same space as her every single day. I thought the knife like pain in my chest would dull after time, but we are here, weeks after the fact, and it still hurts just as much as if it were yesterday. Our last deeply personal interaction replays through my mind every time we make eye contact, haunting me with thoughts and fears. Despite my resistance I can't stop caring for her, but all I can do is pray that she won't one day end up dead or in prison. I can only imagine how she coped with my rejection that night, though I know I can't take responsibility.

I realize I'm staring at her, mouth agape, and I struggle to make some kind of neutral resistance to her interjection with the hoard of reporters mere inches behind me.

"Wh-what are you doing?" I stutter, although it's obvious.

She's here to be the savior, the Mr. Fix-it to anyone but herself. It's easy for her to make these confrontations for others, to jump in the midst of chaos and command calm - but never for her own peace and wellbeing.

"She doesn't have a comment." Amanda snaps at the reporter, ignoring my question, as she dismissively waves a hand at them. "Now get along."

"Who are you?" The man demands, seemingly annoyed that she's come between him and his target.

"NYPD." Amanda replies, sharply, flashing her badge at them from her hip. "If you wanted a sound bite you should've gotten a seat in there."

Before they can answer, she takes my arm once more, dragging me away from the group of press. I still feel as if I'm in reeling as she guides us safely to the courtroom and through the doors. My resistance tumbles from my lips in a series of huffs and stutters until we're inside the much quieter courtroom. At least I know that the media here knows their boundaries.

Once we've reached relative safety, I try to gather my composure as well as my common sense.

"What are you doing?" I repeat, pulling my arm away as I regain use of my tongue.

I don't want her to think that I've changed my mind or that she's swayed me with her heroic rescue from the reporters. I'm grateful, but it's a small favor, one that makes little difference in the grand scheme of things.

"You don't owe them a comment." Amanda answers, her sharp blue eyes narrowed so directly upon me that I can hardly return her gaze.

"I…" I turn away from half a second, glancing across the dozens of people inside the room. "I just wasn't sure you'd be here. I could've handled this by myself."

"You think I'm not gonna be here for this?" Amanda asks, tossing a hand towards the judge's bench. "He was my perp in the beginning if you'll remember."

I glance back at her quickly, working hard to hide the burn that trickles through my chest bone. She's here for Lewis - not for me.

"Yes, I remember." I reply, stiffly, adjusting my suit jacket to hide the tremble in my hands.

I keep my eyes towards the floor and the rows of chairs ahead of me - anywhere but towards her face.

"Oh, come on, Liv," She says more softly, "After what he did to you I wouldn't miss this."

I turn my head away quickly as a knot of emotion burgeons in my throat. A rush of tears stings my eyes, but I try to convince myself that I'm just on edge because of the verdict we're about to witness. I'm tired, overworked, stressed out - not in the least bit affected by her concern which I assumed she'd tossed to the side.

It's a lie, and, deep in my heart, even I'm not deceived by my own excuses.

I know she cares. Maybe, she cares too much - but I can't accept her devotion to me any longer. It's not as pure and undiluted as it once was, and the choices she has made have led me to believe that our relationship was no longer a priority. I pulled away because I couldn't take the pain of realizing that her addictions were more important than me, and that even after all her repentance and tears, she had no intention of truly changing that. I gave her every chance possible to redeem herself, and she failed each and every time.

I felt justified in ending the ill fated relationship between us, but at times I find myself still yearning for the bond we once shared. Perhaps it hurts more knowing that I still love her with every fiber of my being; having her taken from me by the cruel hand of every single vice she has fallen to. A desperate part of me wants to wonder if she was telling the truth the last time we spoke - that she really is trying to quit.

 _Stop being foolish._  I tell myself with a shake of my head.

She's told me such lies before, only to hurt me the very next day with some indiscretion or another.

"I'm going to find a seat." I mutter, ducking away from her intense gaze.

We haven't even referenced our relationship, or come even close to discussing it, but it fills my brain, ballooning across my mind in an all consuming wave. For the past few weeks I've managed to keep my head down and avoid even the possibility of interacting with her, but now that she's next to me, forcing this contact upon me, it's hard to look into her eyes without remembering that when I held her I knew it was all I ever wanted. It's hard not to think of how she looks when she sleeps next to me, finally quiet and peaceful because she's never anything but a raging storm when she's awake. It's hard to forget that when she stares back at me in those moments that it's the happiest I've ever been…

**xxxxx**

It's nearing twenty five minutes since the verdict has been read. Twenty five long, excruciating minutes that I've sat inside this cold, empty stairwell struggling to have any kind of grasp on my emotions.

I hate the way the dull, cement walls echo my sniffles and sobs back to my ear tendfold, but I have no other place to hide. The masses of media and the public await me just outside and I can't find the strength to rise and greet them.

The words keep ringing through my head -  _on the count of attempted rape we find the defendant not guilty._

My stomach feels sick. My hands are trembling and cold.

They didn't believe me even after all I have gone through to keep that charge on the table. In the eyes of the jury I've suffered nothing even close to rape. In fact, they wanted me investigated more than anything.

I've barely controlled another wave of tears when I hear the door open loudly from above me. Sniffing sharply, I drag my hands over my face in a desperate attempt to cover my anguish. I begin to push myself up from the stairs in order to escape whatever confrontation I'm about to have, but a hand on my shoulder stops me.

"Liv, are you okay?"

Amanda's voice causes me to groan because she's the last person I need monitoring my well being. I sink back down to the stairs, cradling my face in my hands.

"Liv?" Amanda repeats when I don't answer.

I hear her boots scuff the concrete as she moves down beside me, taking a seat at my side.

"Everyone's concerned." She murmurs, touching my arm.

"I'll be fine." I reply, stoically, lifting my head to stare at the wall.

"You don't look fine." Amanda counters, quickly.

"Well, I am." I snap, snatching my arm away from her as I toss her a watery glare.

Her silence prolongs, ringing loudly with judgement through the frozen air between.

"You won in there." Amanda finally replies, her voice losing it's gentle tone as she tosses her hand back in the direction of the courtroom. "He's going to prison, Liv, for the rest of his miserable life."

"I know that!" I nearly snarl, my face flushing in indignation that she has come here simply to berate me for my feelings.

She wishes I were strong now, instead of weak. She doesn't know what it's like to be the one holding a person together with only the strength in your arms, as if squeezing hard enough will force the shattered pieces back together. She wishes I were logical now, instead of unhinged, here when it is my feelings at stake instead of hers.

Pushing up from the stairs, I march across the small space of the landing, my back turned to her as I clasp my hands over my burning eyes once more. She's silent behind me, long enough that I sense regret clouding in her chest, permeating these four walls. It puts a knot in my throat because it's reminiscent of so many arguments we've had before, the dozens which spiral out behind us like the shrapnel of one tragic plane wreck after another.

I clench my fingers into my hair, drawing breaths despite the tight pain expanding through my chest. I hurt when she's near me, but when we're apart the distance hardly dulls that pain. I don't know which one is worse.

"Olivia, I'm sorry…" Her apology, the one I knew was coming, finally reaches my ears.

This time last year I might have accepted that. I might have crumbled beneath the repentance glimmering deep within her gaze, but I've learned that no matter how sincere she sounds, her decisions always fail to back her up. It doesn't matter anymore whether she means it or not - only that it will never last.

I cringe when I feel her fingers brush my back once more, hesitantly skimming down my spine.

"I didn't mean that you are ungrateful. It's just….this is over now. You can go on."

I turn, arching my back away from her inquiring touch. Steeling my expression, I lift my chin to stare back at her.

"Go on." I repeat, frigidly, "Go on to what?"

"The rest of your life…." Amanda says in confusion, making a wide gesture around us.

I scoff, indifferently, all the while glancing away from her as another rush of hot moisture fills my eyes. She makes it sound so simple despite the fact that I know she's struggled just as I have to move past the trauma of sexual assault; but then again maybe she's never truly processed it. In the past I might have felt compassion for her, but now I'm almost angry that she can't use her own experience to have any hint of understanding for me.

Glancing back towards her, I whisper, sharply, "My dignity has been taken from me. My sanity. My job may still be taken from me…. and you've decided to take the last of what I did have."

She draws back, her lips parting, slowly. I can see the creasing of her brow and the slight tremble that seizes her chin, signaling her tears. My chest thrums with the memory of a pain I once felt at her sadness, but I can't stay here and contemplate what might have been.

"This selfishness, Amanda." I whisper, feeling my own features twist in pain. "It's ruined us. So forgive me if I take a little for myself."

Shouldering past her, I rush towards the stairs. The floor tilts and blurs beneath me as I charge towards my escape, but then her hand is upon me, grabbing at my arm, desperately.

"Olivia, wait!" She implores in an anguished tone.

I turn back towards her, yanking on my arm which is locked inside her grasp.

"Let me go." I demand, my voice trembling.

"No." She whispers, a tear streaking down her cheek as she pushes in closer to me.

My arm is poised between us, my fist shaking, but she won't release me. I pull back once more, harder than before, but the step is behind me. With a surprised cry, I stumble on the edge of the stair and my own two feet, landing awkwardly on my side. My outstretched hand scrapes over the hard, gritty surface, causing me to cry out.

"Liv!" Amanda's voice rises, sharply, in concern, and she immediately drops to her knees next to me as I clutch my burning palm.

My hip and my hand are throbbing in pain, humiliation making a flushed swatch up my neck and face. I've been punched in the face by men twice my size and never once shed a tear, but tripping and falling to my own demise of embarrassment is almost more than I can take in this moment. When she touches me, my entire being flares in rejection.

"Just fucking stop!" I snap in her face, the curse spilling from my tongue hastily as I yank my arm away.

"I- I'm sorry." Amanda whispers, hollowly, the beginning of a sob choking her throat as her hand hovers over my shoulder.

"Stop touching me." I cry, shoving her hand away and grabbing at the railing to pull myself up.

"Let me help you." Amanda insists, her voice strangled with tears and desperation.

She clutches my arm, as I get my feet under myself, and I immediately begin to struggle away from her as full formed, heaving sobs break to the surface. Instead of desisting, she drags me in closer, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Liv, I'm sorry." She cries in my hair, nearly crushing me with the ardor of her grasp.

The comfort of her embrace and the passion of her words force another shard of pain through my chest because I know I can't accept this. I can not take her hugs or her kisses; her apologies or her promises. I've shut the door to my heart, and I can not open it again without the whole of her spilling back into my chest, rushing to fill every cavity and empty space inside of me.

Harsh, aching cries fall from my lips as I use the last of my strength to try to escape her arms, but in my weakened state she easily overpowers me. I'm pinned between her and the wall, and she clenches me tight to her chest until I slowly lose my grip on my failing ire.

Finally, I lapse down in her arms, my fingers curling around her shirt in quivering fists. All of my anger and pain rains down upon the open pillow of her breasts, and she takes every droplet until she's soaked through with my sadness, sopping with my anger.

I find us sinking back down, collapsing into a huddled mass of emotion at the bottom of the stairs, our soft whimpers melding into an echoey, somber harmony against the cement walls. It's both strange and comforting for her to be the one holding me, her arms so familiar while my heart cracks just a little bit more.

_Why did you have to hurt me?_

I want to scream the words, but I've been struck mute by the utter despair and pain of it all. All I can do is shiver against her and hope she feels the agony twisting me to my bones. I hope she understands that I would've loved her to the very end if she had only chosen me one single time. One good reason would have been enough….

Her apologies dwindle into halting breaths which I know are covering her tears, and for a moment, I can barely contain my own because everything within me wants to soothe her hurt; but those days are gone, replaced by this irrevocable anger and betrayal.

At last, when she falls completely silent, I pull back the raging emotion from my mouth, swallowing it into my belly. I've given her enough my voice for now.

She pulls back slowly, and I can hardly bear to meet her eyes. She touches my jaw with a hesitant hand, but I turn my face away with a low noise of resistance.

"Let me take you home." She whispers, her voice raw.

Her words jolt me, snapping my eyes towards hers much more quickly than her physical prodding. Our gazes clash, cinching my throat tight at the sight of the tears clinging to her blonde lashes and her blue eyes shot through with redness.

"Not like that." She clarifies quickly, her brow furrowing at my inquiring expression. "Just to make sure you're there...safe and sound."

"No." I scoff, quietly, and shift away to grab the railing.

It's preposterous that she wants to care for me now when she's witnessed the extent of my pain. I can't remember a single time in the past few weeks where she's made an attempt to express her concern when those have been the worst days of my life.

Rising from the stairs, I pace away, drawing my hands over my face. My cheeks are wet and flushed from crying, and I can only imagine how I would look should I be in front of a mirror.

"Well, someone needs to make sure you do." Amanda asserts, and I hear her standing up behind me, ready to fight once more.

"I can take care of myself." I return, glancing over my shoulder at her with a callous gaze.

"I'm taking you home." Amanda repeats as if her simple declaration will be the end of the conversation.

"No." I shake my head.

"Then who?" She's asks, folding her arms. "I know you, Olivia. You don't want to show weakness to anyone, least of all the people you work with. I'm here and I'm not worth anything to you so you don't have to worry about disappointing me or damaging your image. You already know how I feel about you…."

My nostrils flare at her words, and I clench my hands at my sides. In some ways she is right, but it still hurts to listen to - that she loves me in ways she'd never think to afford herself. I accused her of selfishness, but I know that it's only a by-product of her self destruction.

"Fine." I whisper at last, glancing away to avoid her reaction. "Take me home."

I want to my blame my weakness on the emotional exhaustion of the trial, and I know I can convince myself of this for as long as it takes to believe it. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to live with the fact that I am making a mistake. The trapdoors of my heart are groaning beneath the weight of her watery eyed instistence, and I fear that soon the floodgates will be opened.


	3. Dichotomy

_Amanda_

Things have changed since I was last inside Olivia's apartment: small details - a piece of decor, a lamp, a picture frame - but I notice them just the same. It's strange to step so easily into this space when I remember the last time I tried to gain entrance, but she hardly casts me a glance as we trudge inside.

I try to keep my eyes to myself, but I want to gaze at my surroundings and take everything in - as if these walls could somehow be a part of her I'm being allowed to touch and look at it. It's a paltry substitute for the real shape of her, but our fight in the courthouse hall has almost left me thirsting for more. I held her and touched her, stroked her hair and kissed her forehead…

It's all I've wanted for these long barren weeks since last I stood here, and the empty cavern of my heart has grown increasingly parched. As unbearable as that harsh and violent night had been the slow and excruciating torture of working next to her every single day and pretending as if nothing has happened is almost more painful. The need for her has grown inside me to a point I can't ignore and when I found her crying alone the steps I couldn't stop myself anymore.

Wrapping my arms around her, feeling the weight of her against my chest, her hair soft against my cheek was like an explosion of my memories and my desire to have things as they once were...but it wasn't the same. It can't be the same when she fought me every step of the way, spitting expletives and breathing with fury, crying with an indignation I have well earned. She made it clear that I have made her life miserable, as if that has needed any explaining.

Perhaps it was my guilt then that lead me to take her home with every pure intent of simply protecting and caring for her. I try to leave my desires - the selfish ones she's rebuked me for - at the door, clutching to some small hope that if I make some impression on her tonight that perhaps she'll finally change her mind.

I watch her cross the room, her shoulders hunched with the weight of the world. She collapses to the couch with a low breath, gazing off towards the window. She's been silent since we left the courthouse, and I can almost see the shovel in her hands, burying her emotions deep.

It's what she does best with them, when all I can do is rage and burn until they die out. Right now, however, I'm not even sure I can do that.

I close the door and turn the deadbolts before standing awkwardly several yards away from her deflated figure on the sofa. It's quiet, disturbed only by the distant sounds of the city and the neighbors above and below us.

"Can I get you something?" I ask at last, my uncertain tone shattering the silence.

She shrugs slowly and I can her biting her inner lip. I can sense the tears welling in her eyes again, and I struggle to find some temporary resolution.

"Come on, there must be something." I insist.

She shrugs once more, turning her face away further. I wince at her tears which motivate me further to assuage her agony.

Turning from her, I wander into her kitchen and open a cabinet as if the answer is hiding somewhere amongst her dry goods, but the action makes me feel as if I'm doing something. It's better than nothing.

She remains quiet as I note that not much has changed about the way Olivia stocks her pantry, reminding me that I once walked these very same steps as a inhabitant of this home rather than a visitor - or rather, a stranger.

I cringe at the memory of getting up from the bed and darting into the kitchen, half naked and still half drunk, to snag the wine from the fridge yet again. We'd celebrated that night, some number of months or days which is now insignificant, burnt into nothing. I remember her laughter following me, calling for me to be quick -  _don't bother with the glasses, we won't need them…_

I open my eyes to the present, my throat catching with unexpected emotion. I lean quickly on the counter, grinding my jaw against the urge to collapse into tears right here in her kitchen. Pursing my lips, I lower my head, let out a low sigh through my nostrils.

I should've treasured that night. I should've put the bottle aside and clung to the sharp edges of sobriety until the clarity of her body before me took my very breath away. I loathe the way so many of our nights together are now smudged in my mind beneath the corrosive hand of alcohol and the passage of time; and now this night too shall be distorted, if not by drink then by tears.

Blinking against the sudden emotion, I turn towards the refrigerator and yank the door open. My eyes don't have to search long to find the bottle towards the back of the shelf, just like always. It's a miniscule detail, but the the fact that some things never change forces another rush of tears to my eyes.

Grabbing the bottle, I march back towards the cabinets to take two wine glasses. As I return to the living room, Olivia glances over at me, her brow furrowing.

"What are you doing?" She asks, sitting forward and quickly dashing her fingers under her eyes.

I find my fingers quivering as I set the glasses down on the coffee table and remove the wine topper from the bottle.

"We both need this." I comment, pouring the thick, sweet red into the glass with a quick, practiced hand.

"I'm not sure…." She begins to protest, but I shove the glass in her direction.

She studies the resolve in my gaze, and I can see her weighing the pros and cons of fighting me on something I already know that she wants. Finally, she reaches out, a look of self doubt crossing her features. She fears this is a ploy. I haven't decided whether it is or not yet, though I'd like to righteously claim it isn't. Only moments ago, I promised myself not to revolve tonight around my own heart, but watching as she takes it slowly, I can hardly stop myself from drowning in the memories.

I'm here in the very room where we made love so many times - pushed against the walls, crumbled to the floor, spread across the couch…. How do I forget when she's lapsed here on the cushions in front of me, so tragically beautiful in the light of certain heartbreak.

I'm stepping closer to her before I can think, sinking to the edge of the coffee table, mere inches from her. Her expression flashes surprise and distrust as I reach down to touch her leg. My fingers skim the back of her calf, and she begins to resist, my name on her mouth.

"Amanda…" She stutters, her muscles taut as I slide my fingers tight around her leg, pulling her foot up into my lap.

Her flesh peeking from beneath her pant leg is silken, rising and falling with a bone structure I've never failed to adore. Cradling her ankle, I drag my thumb against the gentle curve just below the joint. A soft sound of dismay greets my ears at the sensual advance, but it's not enough for me to even think of stopping. Instead, her barest whimper kindles heat throughout my body.

"It's what I used to do for you." I murmur, asserting my other hand to grasp the black pump she's wearing.

The shoe hits the floor with a soft thud, and I feel my heart thundering against my ribs, surges of adrenaline and warmth searing my stomach. I touch the top of her foot, trailing my fingers up to her perfectly painted toes, and I hear her draw a quick breath. The resistance in her leg strengthens but I don't let go.

"After a long day, remember…." I whisper, glancing up at her shocked expression. "You'd sit here, I'd pour a glass…. You put your feet up, I give them a massage while you sipped and bitched and complained…."

"Amanda." She repeats, half a plea, half a command as I drag my thumb to the underside of her foot, applying pressure to the arch.

Her toes curl beneath my touch, and a tremulous smile touches my lips. I know just how to do it, which sore muscles need the most attention, what feels good. There's some things I can't erase from my mind no matter how hard I try.

"I loved you." I whisper, my fingers clenching around her ankle as she gives another pull. "I always did."

She stares back at me, rigidly, her fingers nearly quaking around the wine glass. Her leg is bent, ready to yank away from me, but I know that if she really wanted to, she would've done it already. This show of resistance is to calm both our consciences, to preserve the space between us which she has so clearly defined; but I know I'm only one breath away from blowing away the line she's drawn in the sand.

"From the moment I walked into that squad room." I continue in a whisper, forcefully dragging my thumb back up the curve of her foot again. "The first time I saw you, I just knew."

"Amanda…." She repeats, the intensity in her voice rising.

She's closing her eyes as a cringe crosses her face, struggling to maintain an even expression despite my persistent massage.

"You were a bitch to me, but I didn't care." I continue, ignoring the desperation in her tone. "You brushed me off and discredited me at every turn. You tried so hard, it was almost funny."

She lifts a hand to her forehead, hiding her face from me, and I'm not sure whether she's disguising a smile or tears. I used to know which.

"Do you remember?" I ask, swallowing hard against the rock of emotion in my throat.

She's silent for a short moment before her voice emits low and raspy, "Yes, of course….How could I forget? I- I never stopped thinking about you."

She turns her face away, towards the window again, her fingers poised over her trembling lips. I can see her chest rising and falling in uncertain waves, and I bite my own lip at the way I've shaken her. After all my pining and pleading, I wasn't sure she'd ever break beneath me again. Now, her own admission strikes me mute.

"I loved you before I even knew what was happening." She whispers, her tone dipping into tears, and she sucks in a quick, trembling breath.

Her eyes turn towards me, a slow descent. Her expression is wrought with pain and confusion, but beneath the heartache, I catch a glimpse of something more - a desire, the reflection of my own that I've waiting far too long for.

Her foot slips from my weakened hands, and I hear her draw a choked breath. The wine glass wavers in her hand, dangerously close to crashing to the floor, along with the rest of our inhibitions. She hardly moves as I lean in, drawn to the sweet desire oozing from beneath the steel plates she's erected around her heart. They've shifted and shattered now, like the aftermath of an earthquake, and I can't stop myself from feeding upon the disaster.

I'm bending over her, my hands clutching the cushions on either side of her strained shoulders, our faces bare inches apart. My hair rushes over my shoulders, dancing across her collar bones and breasts, and I can see her lids flutter at the sensation. Her breath is warm against my lips, and I'm locked upon her own parted, quivering mouth.

"Amanda…" She begins, but her voice is a whimper, a useless plea.

I sink against her, my mouth pressing to hers in an open kiss. In less than a heartbeat, I'm crushed against her, destroying the modicum of platonic professional we've erected between us in a single second. I'm tearing at the stitches on our hearts, and maybe I should be more gentle, but I won't give her some false pretense, some cowardly hesitation. I want her more than life itself, and I have but one chance to impress this raging need upon her.

She quakes beneath me, arching rigidly against the couch as I clasp her bottom lip inside my mouth. A groan vibrates between our joined flesh, hers first, then mine. I collapse into her, sinking my fingers into her hair as I release her mouth for a second kiss. Her chin tilts up towards mine in response, and when I plunder my way back to her lips, her tongue greets mine, curling up behind my teeth in a wanton plea.

She's not resisting. She's hardly even fighting. In many ways, she's begging, pleading me to continue.

Desire thunders through my body, caging me in a pulsing lust from which there is no escape. There's only release now, and the thought of that heady abandon squeezes heat down to my very core.

I shove in closer to her, kissing her harder in a flurry of moaning and panting, and I feel her hand at my waist, clenching down on the material of my shirt as she releases a low moan.

"'Manda….Wait..." She manages to gasp between my kisses, and I can hear the hesitation building in her tone.

She turns her face with another groan, and my moistened lips drag against her temples and cheekbone. Her fingers crawl over my arm, clenching down on my biceps, but I can feel the weakness bleeding into her grasp, the way she wants to give in.

"Please, don't stop me…" I whisper, pressing my mouth to her jaw, blasting the plea against her ear with heavy, hot breaths.

"Amanda…." She repeats my name once more, and I can hear all of her frustration and desire melding into one ragged, breathless expletive. "Jesus….fuck… I….I…"

I push back against her in the midst of her garbled words, grabbing her face with both hands. I kiss her again, hard and decisive. I've had enough of talking, of explaining and apologizing; I've had enough of words without actions, bemoaning what has become of us. I've had enough of regret to last the rest of my lifetime, and I'll be damned if I regret one more night without her.

She seems shocked at first my reckless fervor, her resistance falling into nothing. When she grabs me again, rocking me back into the coffee table, I expect her to push me off of her, but instead I hear the glass clink next to me as she discards the forgotten drink. I gasp as both her hands clasp my ass, dragging me onto her lap in one powerful motion. My thighs are spread across her own, and I'm moaning at the pleasure of our colliding hips when she presses her mouth to mine once more.

Feverishly, I return her kisses, our mouths wet and desperate. Her hands draw up and down my body, eagerly exploring every curve in a near panicked manner. Her ardor spears me through with desire, eviscerating the final ties of my self control. My fingers tangle harder in her hair, pulling with severity that must pain her, but she hardly protests. I squirm against her, thrusting my hips into her body, begging over and over for her touch.

She's panting heavily as she plunges her fingers beneath my shirt, her nails dragging over my bare flesh. I whimper as she finds the claps of my bra, and tears it open without hesitation. My breasts release from the material, flowing into her waiting palms. Her hands are achingly hot against my bare flesh as she fondles me, squeezing and rubbing in desperate patterns. Pleasure sears my nerve endings, crackling across my chest with such intensely that I can hardly take it. I arch against her, twisting in her arms with a low moan, but then she's dragging my shirt upwards. Dazed with pleasure, I follow her undressing, and she tosses first my shirt and then the bra to the floor, leaving my flesh naked to her roaming eyes.

I'm quaking as she spreads her hands over my ribs, her half lidded gaze tracking across my flushed, pleasured breasts with burning passion. My nipples tighten and ache at the ghost caress of her eyes, and I whimper her name without thinking.

"O-Olivia…"

Her hands slide around me, pulling me close as she as she dips her head towards my chest.

My eyes roll back as her mouth descends upon her left nipple, encapsulating my throbbing flesh in the heat of her mouth.

"Oh!" I cry out, grabbing at her shoulders as she sucks down with exquisite pressure.

Gushes of heat rush to fill the center of my body, springing from me with this simple touch. It's a mere fraction of what she can do to me, but after being bereft of her for so long, I can barely fathom the pleasure stampeding through my veins.

She releases my nipple with a wet sound, only to feed herself once more with my hardening flesh between her lips. I arch in her embrace, moaning aloud for her to hear. She makes a low noise in return, rocking into me as she gorges herself on my supple flesh. I'm writhing in her arms when she switches to my other nipple, descending upon the freshest skin hungrily.

"Ah! Oh god…" I cry out, twisting against her once more as the nearly unbearable pleasure swallows me once more.

She releases my breast suddenly, and I open my eyes to protest, but then she's moving, abruptly flipping me onto my back on couch. The unexpected movement leaves my head spinning as she splays me out across the cushions. Leaning over me, she drags my arms above my head, and ducks her head to kiss my neck.

I want to look into her eyes, but a part of me is terrified at what those two, brown oracles will tell me. I don't want to know whether she loves me or not in this moment. I just want to feel her, over and over again, until I can forget that the answer may not be what I want it to be.

Her moist lips are pressing lower to my breastbone, leaving a sweet pattern of kisses there. She moves quickly downwards, her tongue lapping out against the dip between my ribs . She intermittently asserts her teeth against the ridges of bones, scraping with sweet agony over my tingling flesh. I gasp and moan, my eyes fluttering and rolling back with each sensation.

I feel alive with the sudden pleasure, colors bursting across my vision which has long been dull with black and grey visions of my dying future. I've tried so many times to recreate what she gives me in the solace of my own bed, but nothing is like her hands on my body, her mouth tasting every piece of me. Every skin cell and every nerve ending is awake, ready to explode at the gentlest touch, and as she laves her tongue towards the center of me, I want to scream. Grabbing at the couch cushions, I ride each rolling wave of desire, waiting for her to converge upon me with the perfect storm.

Anticipation clenches my abdomen as she reaches my hip bone, and I feel her fingers at the waistband of my pants. Her knuckles brush against my stomach, washing undulating tremors over my sensitive flesh.

"Liv…." My voice emits in a high pitched whimper and I grab at her shoulders, my legs clenching around her.

"Sh….." She whispers the first raspy syllable that she's spoken since her teary confession, and the sound of her voice sends shivers across my body.

Whimpers fight against my tightly clenched jaw as she begins to unbutton my pants, snapping the final shreds of doubt that this night will go anywhere but here.

I've wanted this so much and for so long that it almost seems like a dream. Lying here against her couch, half naked, I hardly dare to wonder at what will become of me once this night has reached it devastating end.

She hooks her fingers under my pants and underwear and tugs them down, roughly, in one quick pull. Pants break through my lips, my heart racing and skipping in my chest as I kick away the balled up clothing between us. Then she's spreading her hands over my legs, pressing my thighs open. My fingers twist in against the material of her shirt as she sinks down between my legs, her face plunging into my stomach. Her mouth is ravenous against my flesh as she devours her way down to my groin without hesitation.

The short moments of sensual teasing are tossed aside, and the foreplay that's caused me to shudder in anticipation is almost struck from my mind at the shock of her mouth directly and unabashedly upon me. I lunge beneath her, my feet digging into the couch as she catches me in her mouth, sucking me in whole.

"Olivia!" I cry out, my hips twisting beneath her, but her hands clench down on my thighs, holding me pinned to the couch, open and aching.

She sucks off me, sharply, pulling a strangled moan from my lips before she shatters me once more with her tongue across my aching center.

"Jesus, please…." I sob, her hands batting desperately at her shoulders, catching in her hair.

She surges against me, her tongue drawing a quick, hard circle up around my clit with devastating precision. The tears are close now as I thrust violently beneath her, my body both screaming for and fighting against the pleasure.

It's too much, yet hardly enough for the thirst inside me. Everything I know she's felt for me, from that night at her front door until now, is bursting from her, battering me with the force of her unfettered passion. Maybe before I would've begged her to slow down, gagging on the truth that I can hardly handle each blow of desire, but not tonight. No, I wouldn't dare to stop her when just yesterday even a glance in my direction would've fed my need for her for days. No, not now, not when I am so undeserving of her gentle grace and tender love. I will take it, every agonizing, violent moment of passion, because even in the light of our bleak and painful past, I am hers - forever and always.


	4. Dissolution

_Olivia_

 

Waking up next to a warm, soft body is a universal pleasure, one I believe transcends romance or even sex at times. It means I haven't woken alone, which in the end holds a larger meaning then a few moments of orgasm.

Waking up this morning doesn't cause me any pleasure. The disappointment is a sour, churning mess in my stomach, a soup of regret and frustration towards myself, before I've even opened my eyes. I've woken up from dozens of bad decisions before, but none so devastating as this. I wish I had taken a few sips of the wine that she poured me as some sort of excuse of inebriation, but there will be nothing of the sort. I knew what she wanted from me the moment she offered to take me home - and I let her. I willingly walked into the temptation of being alone with her, and I cannot feign my innocence in the matter. I could've said no at any time, and I know she would've listened to me eventually, but instead I did what my body and heart wanted rather than what my head knows is right.

I kissed her back.

I threw her down.

I fucked her.

I let her sleep next to me.

I did all of these things, and the knowledge that the responsibility for last night rests solely on my shoulders nearly crushes me. Perhaps if she also knew that this was a mistake it might be easier, but I know Amanda. I saw the look in her eyes when I kissed her and sank down between her legs. She loves me and wants me to love her in return with a desperation that is as terrifying as it is heartbreaking. Now, I must tell her that it can't be so.

Sitting up slowly at the edge of the bed, I run my fingers through my knotted hair and try to calm the anxiety rushing through my stomach. I have no intention of continuing this relationship, but imagining her reaction causes my heart to pound. I don't want to do to her as she has done to me so many times, but I know I'm about to.

Standing from the bed, I quickly go to my closet and randomly choose an outfit for the day. I'm not even sure if I would know if it didn't match or if I'm making some unintended fashion statement.

I leave the room and head to the shower, impatient to stand beneath the cleansing spray. I can smell her on me, the remainders of pleasure marking me with damning evidence of my horrible choices last night. The familiarity of it all grabs at my heart with long, cold fingers, ushering me towards a pit of depression that I am almost too willing to fall into. I've always managed to pull myself together when a tough situation calls for it, but after the stress of the trial and my tumultuous evening with Amanda, I'm left grasping for that same tenacity which has sustained me through the past few months. I feel drained, the very last bits of my strength sucked dry.

My throat is tight as I scrub at my body until my flesh is nearly raw. The physical reminders of the night before may have dispersed beneath my relentless washing, but even as I clean myself of her, I must bar the memories of my own climaxes until the tears spring fresh to my eyes; and beyond the most pleasurable reflections, the more painful ones lie.

More than desire or sex, it felt so good to hold someone, to soothe the pain and anguish tearing me apart inside. For those hours I almost forgot what Lewis had done, and what the jury had failed to do. Maybe, even if just for a minute, I forgot what she had done too.

A soft cry erupts from lips, unchecked, and I sink back against the wall of the shower, fighting the emotion. I said I would look out for myself now. I said I wouldn't cry about her anymore, or waste anymore time on her than I already had. I said I wouldn't put myself back into a position to be hurt, yet here I am; and now I have done exactly what I have vowed to never do - I took her for my own selfish reasons and desires.

I want some way to blame her, to ease the guilt, but I can't. It hurts more than I thought it would be the user. Standing in her shoes for once, I can hardly take the knowledge that I am going to hurt her more than I ever intended.

The tears slip quickly from beneath my lids, streaming down my neck and disappearing into the pounding water of the shower. Somewhere at my feet, they will circle to the drain, along with any hope I've ever had of moving on from the woman in my bed.

It takes several, long minutes to compose myself enough to finish washing myself and when the emotion finally abates, I find myself even more drained than before. I feel like a numb, lifeless shell as I go through the motions of washing my hair, and rinsing the soap away. When I emerge from the shower, I only check the mirror to ensure that my face no longer bears the flushed signs of anguish. With my body moving on autopilot, I dress myself and blow dry my hair, desperately trying to stop the panicked thoughts from clouding my head.

I know what comes next.

I have to go out and wake her, tell her to gather her clothes and leave. I have to tell her that this can't go on, for both our sakes. I have to tell her the truth….

Exiting the bathroom, I can feel my heartbeat throbbing in my chest, causing waves of nausea to crash through my stomach.

At the bedroom door I gaze in on her sleeping form, soft and quiet in her slumber. She appears so peaceful, and I wish more than anything that I could've provided that for her forever. Oh, how I wanted to be her solace, her protector, her savior, but maybe that wasn't enough. Maybe all she ever wanted was acceptance… and I couldn't give her that. My job and my own goddamn morals wouldn't allow it.

Grasping the door frame, I lower my head, clenching my teeth against tears. I try to even out my breathing and control the emotion washing over me, but the resolve I need to complete this heinous task is escaping me, slowly but steadily. My willpower wilts down to nothing in my chest as the moments tick by, and she continues sleep, unaware of my conflict mere yards away from her.

Suddenly, a noise from the living room startles me, halting my dilemma. I turn my ear towards the outer room as the sound comes again - a low, consistent vibrating against the floorboards.

My own cell phone is in the bedroom, and I realize it must be Amanda's, still in her pants on the floor where I discarded them. Welcoming the distraction, I head out to the livingroom and snatch her pants up from the floor. Sticking my hand in the pocket, I fish out the buzzing device - but it is not the diversion I had hoped for.

A moment of confusion grips me as I open my hand to gaze down at a small flip phone, no doubt a prepaid disposable. The number displayed on the tiny screen is restricted.

_No….it can't be…_

Dismay grips me because I know what this is. I can feel my fingers tremble, the first sparks of anger flickering in my chest with a familiar burn. I can hear my breath rushing through my nose, my jaw clenching as the phone continues to jangle in my palm.

 _I'm done…_  Amanda's voice murmurs in my head, a scathing lie.  _Nate...the gambling… I don't want it anymore._

A rush of tears fill my eyes, and I press my lids shut; but I hardly feel the burn of betrayal, not anymore, not after all these times. The anger rushes in above the pain, a deluge of rage to protect the disjointed pieces of my heart.

I act, suddenly, without much thought - something I never do...unless it's because of her.

Flipping the phone open, I press the phone to my ear.

Over the white noised buzz in my ears, I hear a man's voice.

"Hello?"

"Hello." I reply through gritted teeth, though my voice still trembles. "Who is this?"

"Max from The Green Room?" The man, Max apparently, seems confused. "Who's this?"

I squeeze my eyes shut at the confirmation of my assumptions about this cell phone and the call. I've been here before, in a variety of ways, staring down Amanda's addictions , but it never becomes easier nor less painful. I grasp at control over my breathing, enough to form a response.

"If you're trying to contact Amanda, she's not available right now, and she won't be coming to your establishment any longer." I say through clenched teeth into the phone, pacing away from her crumpled clothing on the floor.

"Hey, what the fuck?" Max replies. "I don't know who you are, but she wanted the pass code for tonight."

"To what?" I snarl. "An illegal gambling room?"

His silence is a damning affirmative, and I feel the blood rushing to my head, filling my cheeks with white hot anger.

"You can forget that. You want to know who I am? My name is Olivia Benson and I'm an NYPD officer so you better toss your phone and this fucking phone number right now!"

"Wh-what the fuck?" Max stammers.

I can hear the terror in his tone, and, god, it feels damn good, like some kind of fucked of salve to my raw and open wounds.

"You don't contact Amanda again. You don't even think about her, do you hear me?" I seethe into the phone.

"Liv?" Amanda's voice startles me, snapping me out of my red-glazed anger.

I spin towards the bedroom to find her standing there, clutching my sheets around her naked body. Her eyes are wide, her cheeks beginning to grow pink as the implications of this moment slowly cement in her mind. We stand there, frozen for half a second, before she rushes at me suddenly, trembling in indignation.

"Give me my phone, Liv." She demands in a strained tone, holding out her palm.

In my ear, the phone clicks, signaling that Max has ended the call. I snatch the phone from my ear and snap it shut, squeezing my fingers tight around the device.

"No." I whisper, staring back into her blazing, cerulean eyes. "I'm not going to do that, Amanda."

"Fuck you." She breathes. "You're not in charge of my life. You had no right to fucking do that."

"You said you were done." I return, shaking my head as the tears bear down behind my eyes. "You said you didn't want to do this anymore."

"That was before." Amanda snaps, grabbing at my hand.

I yank the phone away from her, holding it up away from her as I glare back at her.

"How could you do this?" I ask, and I can hear the pain and emotion evident even in my own ears.

She flinches, her brow furrowing, but her jaw is taut in resistance.

"Why does it matter?" She asks. "You didn't want me back."

"I'm not your reason to be sober, Amanda!" I burst out, my voice rising, as I bend down in her face. "I am not a prop for you to use to get your life together! I am not going to stand by and watch you destroy yourself in the name of love! I can't be your savior, Amanda, do you hear me?"

She flinches as I rage at her barely inches from her nose, but she stands her ground, her jaw grinding.

"I didn't ask you to be." She finally return, her strained and low. "It was seriously fucked up for you to do that. I could be in serious shit if they find out I'm NYPD."

"Serious shit with who?" I demand. "With them or Captain Cragen because I  _will_  turn you in, right now."

"Then do it!" She finally explodes, rearing back into my face so close that I can feel her breath blasting across my face. "And while you're at it you can tell him you fucked me last night and that you goddamn  _liked_  it!"

She grabs my hand, digging the phone from grasp in my moment of shock at her venomous and far too truthful words. Spinning around, she marches to her clothes on the floor and tosses the sheet away.

I watch her shove her pants on her legs, shaking in anger, and I'm suddenly hit with a tidal wave of anguish. The pain immobilizes me, and I grasp at my chest as the air leaves my lungs. My legs weaken beneath me and I stumble back into the recliner behind me. I grab at the material, holding myself upright as I desperately try to breathe.

I can't escape the thought that I'm watching her leave for the last time, and it hurts more than I ever imagined it might - even after the freshest betrayal, I want nothing more than to save her from herself. Even after the words I've screamed in her face….

She hardly deigns me a glance as she buttons her shirt and pushes her feet into her shoes. When she turns back towards me, her hair is a mess about her flushed cheeks, dangling across her watery, angry gaze.

She strides towards the door, spitting at me one last time, "Fuck you, Liv."

The words are a slap in the face, just another in the dozens she's given me in only a few minutes time. My chest is tight, vision blurred, but I shove away from the chair to grab her by the arm in one last effort to crack through her hard skull and make her understand. She begins to yank away from me, but I slam her against the wall, forcing a gasp from her lips.

"No, no." I shake my head. "You don't get to fucking do this."

"Do what exactly?" She sneers back at me. "Defend my own fucking privacy?"

"You don't get to act like you've done nothing wrong!" I breathe, shaking her. "I was ready to fucking  _apologize_ to you because I used you last night. I admit it. I can admit when I screwed up, Amanda."

"Well, what a good fucking person you are, Liv, what a fucking bleeding heart." She snarls in my face before smacking my arms away from her.

Shoving me back, she spins towards the door once more, rushing towards her escape. This time, I let her go, sinking against the wall. A moment later, I hear the door slam, causing the wall to shudder beneath my palms. Pressing my head against the cold, smooth surface, I feel the wave of tears racing at me. When the full force of brutal agony hits me, I scream, slamming my fist into the wall - once, twice, three times. Throbbing pain explodes across my knuckles, and I cry out a second time until the strangling tears engulf what's left of my voice.

Sinking down against the wall, I cradle my aching hand against my chest; and I can only wonder if this time, it truly is the end of us - forever.


	5. Deadlock

**Post: "Amaro's One-Eighty"**

_Amanda_

I've always tried not to make excuses for myself. It's never gotten me an ounce of respect or any feeling of self worth, but maybe tonight that's all already escaped me. Maybe, I need to tell myself just a few lies to soothe my battered conscience.

It's payday.

The stress of the recent shooting incident with Nick has finally gotten to me.

Maybe, even more convincing, it's been exactly one month since that fateful evening at Olivia's apartment, like some kind of twisted anniversary date I wouldn't dare to forget. Nevermind the fact that she's a sergeant now, my commanding officer.

Three days have gone by since Cragen announced his retirement, and my stomach has been churning for every single goddamn hour of those three days. I'd been able to hide my recent relapse from him with skilled effectiveness, but with Liv in charge now, I feel a weight of dread hanging above me. She could crush me and my career at any time with the knowledge that she holds, and I would only embarrass myself by claiming the affair. I have no upper hand in this, and I don't even feel entitled to one.

Her anger and pain on that chilling morning after has resonated through the empty chambers of my heart with a never ending echo for sixty fucking days. Guilt has become my constant companion - if it wasn't already - and regret accompanies that misery all too well.

I should've let her scream at me, punish me with with all the force of her grief at my betrayal, but instead I lashed out in shame, to hide the horrifying truth that every word she said was true. Whatever trust she breached by going through my things and answering the call is nothing compared to what I have done to her.

After leaving her apartment and the implications settled in, I tried to swear to myself that I truly would get clean this time; but my resolve had only lasted for as long as the sun was up. As soon as darkness fell, the hopelessness returned to swallow me whole, along with whatever pathetic promises I had made in the solitary passages of my mind. The unheard vows slipped away into the night as if they had never been made.

The very next day I created a new persona for myself, a new table at which to drown my sorrow.

Now, seeing Olivia every day at work, and the clouded resentment in her eyes is a daily reminder of just how terribly I've fucked up, but it doesn't stop me disguising myself in shadowed rooms every evening. I've spent more time with a set of cards in my hand in the past two months than before, and my chances of getting out of debt are slim. I know I'm in deep, but the weight of it simply doesn't make the impact that I know it should.

It hardly even crosses my mind tonight as I enter the latest gambling room I've discovered.

Typically, I check out everyone who runs the establishments that I visit, but I hardly even know the owner's name, much less his criminal record. It's reckless when I have so many resources at my disposal with which to protect myself, but I'm not even sure if I want to do that. I'm here to lose myself, to grow giddy off the high, to make it last as long as possible. Whatever comes afterward can be ignored, tucked away into a corner of myself which does not exist at daybreak.

When I get through security, I choose a table where they are just beginning to deal.

"Count me in." I say as I take a seat next to well-dressed older woman.

The other people at the table hardly acknowledge me, their empty, glazed over eyes cast downwards upon their cards. It doesn't bother me.

We're all here for something - to chase a feeling, to strike it rich, to stroke an ego, or maybe, just to grasp a familiar pattern.

I've ordered a drink and smoked half a pack of cigarettes by the time the round is over. I'm down a hundred bucks, but I soothe the loss with the thought that I have all night. I have my head down, counting my chips for the next round when I'm startled by a new person joining the the table, directly next to me.

"Amanda?" A man's surprised tone, and the familiarity of it, snaps me quickly out of my concentration.

My head whips in his direction, and I come face to face with Max. For a moment, I'm frozen, my heart stuttering over itself, mouth agape. In the background, the sounds in the club fade to a white noise as my panic overthrows my faculties.

"I thought that was you. Holy shit, I thought you were gone for good." He continues in disbelief.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I demand in a harsh whisper, smacking my cards down on the table.

"I could ask you the same thing." He says with a smirk, leaning in. " _Detective._ "

Horror balloons in my chest, rising to near bursting point at his insinuation. A clamoring of distressed thoughts rattles through my brain, one after another, but they all mean one thing. My life could be over because of a low life nobody looking to get out of his next arrest by turning in an NYPD detective. No DA or IAB officer would turn that down.

Rising suddenly from the table, I grab his arm and say through gritted teeth, "Follow me."

I march away from the table, dragging him behind me. I should be more discreet, but my heart is pounding in panic, and all I can think of is convincing him that it would be in his best interests to forget about me.

I stride into a darkened hall, away from the noise and the sight of the gamblers beyond. An exit sign glows red above us, the only light in the dim space.

"Now, listen," I hiss, releasing his arm once I have him up against the wall, "I don't think it's all too wise for you to come in here and cause a fuss, do you?"

"And why not?" He spreads his hands, seemingly unbothered by my aggressive behavior. "I've got my golden ticket, man."

"I could have your ass arrested." I reply, sharply, shoving a finger at his chest.

"Sure." He says, sarcastically. "All I've got to do is point them in the direction of this fine establishment. I'm sure you'll show up nice and pretty on the camera."

"The people here would kill you if you flipped." I argue, though I know it's only a desperate attempt to save my own skin.

"Oh, come on, they'd just set up somewhere else. And what do you think your friends at the NYPD will care more about? Little old me… or a dirty cop?"

I spin away from him, clenching my hands into fists at my sides. My composure is slipping even as I know that showing him weakness is only feeding his confidence. My stomach rolls, and the alcohol I consumed earlier in pleasure is now nauseating me from the bottom of my stomach all the way to the back of my throat.

My mind races as I try to come up with some kind of solution, some kind of bargain that will entice him. I have no money, and I definitely have no pull with my position at SVU. I don't want to believe I'm desperate enough for sexual favors, but with tears pressing at my eyes I wonder if I could fall much lower.

"What do you want?" I whisper, tilting my head back as I try to blink away the emotion.

"Oh, come on." Max laughs. "I don't need anything, sister. You already gave me all I need."

Panic claws harder at my stomach, and with it, a burst of anger at Olivia. If she hadn't answered that goddamn phone call, I wouldn't be in this situation.

"You gonna rat me out to your boss?" I ask, trying to keep my tone even and unflustered.

"Are you kidding?" He laughs. "I'm keeping this all for myself."

I lower my head, breathing out at the small amount of relief. It's one small favor that could change as quickly as the turning of the leaves, but if it's all I've got, I will take it.

"Fine." I reply tightly, turning back towards him. "What will it take to shut  _you_ up then?"

"Keep the NYPD out of my shit." He offers, smugly. "I don't get arrested, you don't get arrested."

He pushes away from the wall, swaggering back towards the gambling room.

"Nice seeing you, Amanda." He jabs, laughing as he disappears around the corner, leaving me to tremble in anger in the dark hall.

I want to go after him, pummel him in his gloating face, scream and threaten until he cowers in fear, but all these impulses are useless and could easily get me into more trouble than I already am. I've kept a low profile in this particular club so far, and the last thing I need is to blow my cover.

One thing is for sure - for tonight, I'm done.

**xxxxxx**

I arrive at the precinct the next morning, underslept and hungover. It's not the first time, but the walk of shame is especially excruciating this morning knowing that Olivia is sitting in the big office. I hardly want to speak to her after my confrontation with Max, much less be reamed for unbecoming conduct.

I make it to my desk with a low sigh of relief.

"Morning." Fin says, glancing up at me from across the desk.

"Morning." I reply, dully, taking a large gulp of the coffee I picked up on my way to the 16th.

My stomach hasn't stopped rolling with anxiety since last night, and the coffee slips uneasily down my throat, but I need something to keep me upright.

"You good?" He asks, leaning back with an inquisitive expression.

"Yep." I answer, shortly. "As long as Liv doesn't throw the book at me."

"Gotcha." Find replies, slowly.

Olivia has been in command for less than a week, and it's already become apparent to everyone in the squad that our newfound work relationship isn't going as smoothly as it is for the rest of them. I don't even dare to wonder at what conclusions they've drawn from that.

I'm just about to sit down when I hear her voice from behind me, causing my stomach to drop.

"Rollins, my office."

"Oh, for Christ's sake." I groan, dropping my bag to the floor with a roll of my eyes.

"Good luck." Fin echoes, returning to his paperwork.

I blow out a breath, trying to force the sloshing of my stomach to calm, but I know this feeling of dread is far from leaving my body.

Turning towards the office, I keep my head down, my fists clenched, as I make my way through the squad room. Once I reach the door, I glance up to see her flipping the blinds closed, one by one.

_What the fuck?_

I lick my lips, nervously, and step inside, shutting the door behind me. It's more than obvious that this is to be a private meeting.

"What's going on?" I ask, desperately trying to appear composed.

"Have a seat, Amanda." She says, softly, motioning to the chair as she returns to the desk.

"What for?" I ask, not moving from my place by door.

"Because I want to talk to you." She replies.

"You know what, Liv?" I say in an exhausted tone, spreading my hands. "Whatever you're going to say or do… just do it. Don't give me this concerned captain crap. You're not Cragen."

I see her expression shift from across the room as she tilts her head, eyes narrowing.

"No. I'm not Cragen." She replies in a low tone. "That's exactly the point. Now sit down."

She points towards the chair, her sharp command leaving no room for argument. I swallow hard, trying to force the knot out of my throat as I walk slowly to chair and sit down with hardly a glance in her direction.

She takes a seat behind the desk, and I hear her open a drawer. A few papers rustle, and though I want to continue staring rebelliously at the floor, my nerves have left me weak. The curiosity and fear eat at me until I'm forced to flick my gaze towards her.

She holds a plain, yellow envelope on her hands, and her eyes are on me, direct and unnerving.

"Wh-what is it?" I finally whisper, my tone choked.

"Where were you last night, Amanda?" She asks, her voice soft despite the intensity behind it.

My stomach clenches, fearfully, once more, and I shrink down in my seat, my leg beginning to bounce, nervously. I don't know what is inside the envelope, but I can guess that it, undoubtedly, betrays my whereabouts the night before.

"I…" I whisper, my throat catching.

"Don't lie to me." She murmurs, both a plea and a command intertwined in one husky utterance.

She watches me, waiting for me to speak, a confession or a falsehood. A feeling of desperation and mortification seizes me as the strained seconds tick by, pricking my eyes with tears. I want to scramble up from the chair, and run from the room, away from her judging eyes and unerring perception. She wants me to take responsibility for my actions, but the shame of it is too much to bear, especially here, where I have always valued my reputation.

"Liv…please..." I choke at last, and I can feel my features twisting at my own falsity.

"No." She shakes her head, her lips tightening over her teeth in frustration. "It's sergeant in here, and I'm not going to take another day of your insubordination."

"Are you getting off on this?" I burst out, leaning forward in the chair as quick tears rush to my eyes. "You have the power now to make me suffer, and you're going to use it?"

"That's not what this is." She snaps, quickly, her frigid, professional exterior cracking for half a second. "I  _am_  your commander now, and I have a duty to ensure that this precinct is abiding by the law."

"Whatever." I shake my head, feeling my body trembling, uncontrollably from head to toe. "You fucked me over, and now you want to make me pay for it."

"Oh, you're talking about him?" Olivia asks, arching her brow as she opens the envelope and snatches a single, shiny, matte photograph from inside.

She smacks it down in front of me, silencing me with the irrefutable evidence of my presence at the club last night - and Max's.

For a moment, all I can do is stare the photo. It's slightly grainy from the dimness inside the club, but there's no doubt that I am sitting at the table, cards in hand - and the screen cap has perfectly caught my expression of horror at Max joining me.

A hundred wild thoughts flood my brain, but they all lead to one place - prison or a ditch on the side of the road.

"I could take this to IAB right now." Olivia whispers, tapping her finger on the picture, and I can hear the anger causing the slightest tremble to steely tone.

"H-How did you find me?" I finally find my voice, asking the only question I dare to know the answer, although it doesn't make much difference now.

"He's not going to hurt you, Amanda." She says, stiffly. "But I could."

"What do you mean?" I breathe, glancing up at her frosty expression. "He's threatening to use me as a get out of jail free card!"

"Not anymore." She says, simply, picking the photo up and slipping it back into this envelope. "So you need to listen to me, right now, and only me because this can go one of two ways. You get back into the program and you stick with it, or… this picture goes to IAB along with the rest of the information I have."

I stare at her, mouth open, heart racing. My brain is splitting in a dozen different directions, spinning with questions and accusations. I don't know whether to thank her for taking care of Max or to hate her for the position that she's put me in with the picture. I don't know whether I'd rather be screwed over by a criminal or my own fucking lover.

"This is a wake up call, Amanda." She finally says when I don't answer. "The last one I'm going to give you."

"Am I supposed to thank you?" I demand in a shocked whisper. "You want me to fall at your feet and beg for you to take me back again?"

I can see her jaw clench, and her hands folding tightly together in front of her. I know she wants to scream at me as she did before, and I hope her new position as sergeant is just as torturous for her as it is for me.

"No." She finally replies, evenly. "I'm telling you as your commanding officer that I'd rather see you arrested by IAB than find you dead somewhere."

"Yeah?" I demand, rising quickly from the chair. "And so what if you did? It'd be your own fucking fault. If you hadn't answered that phone call we wouldn't be here."

"You'd better be thankful that we are here." She returns, her voice rising, as she bolts up from the desk. "You think you're in trouble now? I just want you to imagine where your ass would be if I hadn't poured two fucking years of my life into you!"

Her words ring sharp across the space between us, snapping whatever facade of command had been constructed over this dubious confrontation. Her voice cracks as her rank and position fall away, leaving me staring back a broken woman, the one I've always sworn I love, instead of my sergeant. Instant regret floods my chest, pushing fresh tears to my eyes as we stand in a deadlock.

I want to break. I want to shatter into a thousand bloody shards at her feet, just to make her see that I am in as much agony as she is. I want her to realize that all I've ever wanted is for to pick me up with gentle hands and stand beside me rather than against me…. I want to, but I can't.

"I need to go." I whisper, turning away from her.

My ears are buzzing, my vision blurring in front of me as wander towards the door with no intention or plan of where to go. This could be the last day of my life as I know it, and I can't even have the thing I want most - her.

My hand is on the door when her trembling voice rises.

"I didn't say you could go."

I clench my fingers tight around the handle of the door, my watery gaze slipping between the blinds towards the squad room beyond, a naive world compared to the one in here.

"But you are done with me." I whisper, a damning revelation I've refused to accept for far too long.

I hear her footsteps, and I sag against the door as she reaches me, her fingers sliding about my arm. I let her pull me around, flopping like a rag doll in her grasp. We come face to face though I can hardly make out her features the tears slipping silently down my cheeks.

"I'm never getting you back." I whimper, before she can speak a word.

I press my eyes shut as the pain of that truth spoken aloud crushes my chest, a massive weight dragging me to the bottom where I know I'll surely drown.

"No…." She admits, quietly, and I can hear the pain evident in her voice, ripping us both to shreds. "No, you're not."

"Then let me go." I cry as the sobs rise up to choke me. "Let them me come for me! There's no point in rescuing me now!"

"Amanda, no." She demands, grabbing me by the face. "Your life is not over. You can make this right."

"What's the point without you?" I cry, grabbing at her hands, trying to push her away.

"There's more to life than me." She insists, though I can hear the emotion choking down what's left of her strength.

"No." I pant through the tears, shaking my head. "No, there's fucking not."

Struggling away from her, I grab for the door with the single thought of escaping forever.

"Amanda." She repeats my name in a stronger tone once more, grabbing both of my arms. "I had to do this. Please, believe me when I say I didn't want to because this hurts, Amanda, it hurts!"

Her words cut me, deeply, with the knowledge that she allowed me into the sacred space of her heart, and I have broken through her tender insides again and again, wielding knives of rebellion and selfish pride.

"Just let me go." I beg, despite my every urge to sink back into her arms.

"Amanda, stop." She begs in my ear, wrapping one arm around my chest as I violently struggle against her.

She's almost soft against me, her hands bearing a gentle strength that catches me with painful familiarity. It clouds my mind with memories of how diligently she sought to free of my addictions in the beginning, but it only reminds me of how her patience faded with time. She grew hard behind layers of scar tissue, from wounds that I gave her. She's trying to heal now, even as I scratch and claw in a place I used to find peace.

It might be the very last time she's ever that close to me, and that devastating thought gives me enough visceral anguish for me to tear myself from her grasp.

"Amanda…" She tries once more, her voice thick with pain, but I can't turn around.

I grab the door handle once more, and though I loathe the thought of the rest of the team seeing me in such a state, I have no other choice.

Rushing out into the squad room, I storm past my desk only to grab my jacket. My metro card is in the pocket, and for now, that's all I need.


	6. Derelict

_Olivia_

A light, warm rain has rolled in from the east, and it peppers my shoulders and my hair as I stand outside Rudy's, an old bar on 9th Ave. My heart is pounding against my ribs, and my body is strung tight with an anxiety that has gripped me for the past six hours.

When Amanda ran from the precinct, I had still been hopeful enough that she would return, and agree to my conditions. Some naive part of me expected her to come back to me as she always does, but after I watched her fly from my arms on shattered, broken wings, she didn't look back.

I called, I texted, I nearly called a damn unit on her, until finally, Fin entered my office, and without a word, handed me her cell phone's GPS address, something I'd been far too flustered to think of myself. My annoyance at myself for my lack of logic in the situation quickly faded into the background when I realized where she'd gone. I shouldn't have been surprised that she found her way to an establishment that sells alcohol, but I was less than thrilled that she chose to return to her self destructive patterns once more; but now that I've made it here, all I can feel is numb.

I feel as if I'm running on some kind of nightmarish path which I've already lived time and again. The dirt is well worn beneath my feet, and I know already where it leads, but something inside me hopes that maybe this time it will be different.

Squaring my shoulders, I heave a deep breath, and step towards the door.

I can already imagine her inside, hunched over her drink, the tears in her eyes. It's almost as if I can feel the heavy sadness of her aura radiating through the walls of the building and straight to my heart. I barely need to even touch her to feel the violent emotions running through her veins, but I did touch her. I caught her in my arms, and felt the full force of her anger and desperation. I felt her giving way beneath me, only pull away once more, and it's almost more than I can take.

I grab the door handle with a determination that I must reach deep down to muster.

A part of me wonders why I am even here, but I can't gut the protective instincts spurring me on. I'd like to tell myself that I've set aside our relationship and that, as her sergeant, I am being responsible not only for her discipline, but also for her safety. Somewhere in the back of mind, I squash the knowledge that my badge has nothing to do with my presence here, and push forward.

The bar is humming with the evening crowd, bursts of laughter erupting from different tables over the sounds of the TV playing above the bar. A few patrons at the bar glance over at me, and I realize that I may not blend into this atmosphere as easily as Amanda. Nevertheless, I lift my chin and skim the bar for any sign of her golden head. On my second pass, I spot her at the very end in a corner seat, nursing a fourth of whiskey.

For a moment, I stand amidst the strangers, watching her from afar, as I scrounge for some bit of courage which will sustain me through what is, no doubt, going to be another argument. That cynical, wounded part of me murmurs that I should turn and walk back in the direction I came before she even sees me, but I know what could happen to her if I do. She's vulnerable, her senses dulled, and currently lacks the judgement that might lead her away from a dangerous situation. I can't leave her here, no matter how badly my instincts want me to turn my back on her.

I take another breath and begin weaving my way through the crowd, cutting a quick path towards her deflated figure at the bar. I make it close to her before her eyes even lift to meet mine. When they do, the blue of them are sharp against the redness of tears although I can see the glaze of alcohol and the heaviness in her lids. Her brow furrows, as she recognizes me slowly in her impaired state, a mix of exasperation and fear crossing her features.

"How'd you find me?" She asks, her tone raspy and slightly slurred, although I doubt the whiskey has changed much since she found her way in here; if anything, her tongue is loose, her inhibitions low.

"GPS." I state, finding it best not to lie to her.

I've asked her to be honest with me so many times that it would be hypocritical if I lied only to not seem so pathetically desperate to find her.

I stand over her for a moment, as she nods slowly, her jaw clenching.

"I could've gone somewhere else, you know?" She sneers, at last, glancing up at me, "Somewhere that can't be tracked as easily as my cell phone."

"But you didn't." I point out, and she turns away with a wordless scoff.

Sitting down on the stool adjacent to her, I study her face as she gazes back down at the glass, turning it around in her hands. Behind the strands of her hair tumbling across her face, I can see the flush on her cheeks. I'm not sure if that's due to her indignation or inebriation.

"Amanda…" I begin, ready to launch a neutral suggestion for her return to the precinct, but she cuts me off.

"You can't even leave me alone for one day?" She snaps, a spark of cynicism exploding across her languishing enunciation.

Her blazing, arctic gaze flings back to me for one accusatory moment, and I can see her nostrils flaring, her chin trembling with the onset of tears that she refuses to shed. She stares off towards the bar, poising one finger to her mouth as she angrily bites at the nail.

"You didn't answer my calls or my texts. I wasn't sure what you were going to do." I reply, firmly, reaching out to grab her elbow, to force her to look at me.

I want to understand her pain and anger, but in the midst of my own scorn, I can hardly justify her behavior. I have given her every chance to set things right, and she's thrown it back in my face too many times to count.

"Oh, fuck off, Liv." She scoffs, yanking her arm away, her jaw jutting in anger. "I'm so sick of you acting like you care."

"I  _do_  care." I answer, my teeth gritting against the pain of how little she thinks of me.

I've given her so much of my time, pieces of my heart I've never shown to anyone else, and I've expended every resource I have to keep her safe and employed. I've ignored my own feelings, my own heartbreak, and yet she acts as if I've thrown that all away simply to punish her for her indiscretions. She imagines that I enjoy her suffering when, in fact, calling her into the office with that photo was one of the hardest things I've ever done.

"Do you think if I cared about you that I'd give up on you?" I demand in a shocked whisper.

"You have." She insists, glaring at me through shimmering tears, before taking up her glass once more.

She takes a quick drink, tilting her head back as she swallows what's left of the whiskey with a cringe. Her fair skin blooms pink at the rush of alcohol, and she rubs one hand over her face, a tremble in her fingers.

I stare at her, incredulous that she thinks I'd care by leaving her to the degradation of this life. The chains of addiction have bound her for so long that she's grown used to their presence there. Suddenly, it's as if gambling is some treasured part of her that no one else can have, and now I would be the villain to take it from her.

She raises her hand to catch the attention of the bartender, indicating her glass is empty, and I shove up from my chair to grab her arm.

"Stop this." I breathe, yanking her hand down between us as her fingers quake in my grasp.

"Let go." She demands through gritted teeth, pulling back.

"I still believe in  _you_ , Amanda." I entreat, shaking her. "I believe that you can stop doing this to yourself if you just find the right reasons. Is this really what you want the rest of your life to be?"

"Oh, that's easy for you to say." She snarls in my face. "You've got your job security. You've even got a promotion. You have a life left to live!"

"You have a life too." I insist, ignoring the way my nose and eyes burn with the pain of watching collapse into hopelessness just inside my arms.

"Yeah?" She whispers, sharp cynicism filling her husky tone. "Well, maybe not when you're done with it."

Her insult stuns me, racing across my veins with paralyzing effectiveness. She rips her arm from my grasp, and stands from the stool, swaying unsteadily with the influence of the whiskey.

"Why are you even here, Liv?" She asks, the tears evident in her voice as she pulls her wallet out and tosses a few bills on the counter.

It's apparent that she means to leave, but despite my desperation, I struggle to fit together some combination of words that will convince her to stay with me. She's taken everything I've said tonight and twisted it into an unrecognizable pattern of destruction, and I can barely grasp at the hope that that will change.

"It isn't because you love me." She says with a shake of her head, twisting the knife even deeper into my chest.

"Amanda." I finally attempt to speak, but my voice emits low and strangled.

I'm watching her leave again, and I'm torn between forcing an intervention upon her and following my instincts of protecting her at all costs. I know where the road of complacency leads, and the logical parts of me scream to let her hit rock bottom; let her crash and burn if it will make her realize that she needs to conquer this addiction. All the while, my heart agonizes over the desire to take her in my arms and shelter her from this cruel, cruel world.

She pushes away from the bar and brushes past me, unsteadily. She's halfway across the room before I can scramble from my seat and rush after her.

"Amanda." I call after her, shouldering through a group of people that have just entered the bar.

"You could say excuse me." I hear one of them snap behind me, but I ignore the snide remark.

I break through the crowd, and shove the door of the bar open. The cool, fall air catches in my hair, caressing at the heat that has taken over my face as I search the sidewalk. I find her standing near the wall, her hand cupped to her mouth as she lights a cigarette. I can hardly breathe with the relief that she hasn't fled beyond the perimeter as I watch the flame illuminate her tear stained cheeks.

"Amanda." I repeat her name as I march over to her, frustrated that she has jumped from one bad habit to another in the short span of our conversation.

"What?" She demands in a trembling tone, her glittering gaze pointed off at the street as she sucks in a lungful of nicotine.

"I'm not trying to ruin your life." I say in a measured tone as I reach her.

"It's what I deserve, isn't it?" She asks, venomously, turning her face towards me.

"That's not what this is." I reply in a hushed, but firm whisper as I reach out to touch her arm.

"No?" She inquires, her tone bleeding sarcasm as she tilts her head, hazy eyes narrowing.

She takes another, slow drag before she angles her chin at me and releases the smoke from between her lips. I turn my face away, jaw clenching as the smoke billows across my cheek. She means to incite me with the rebellious, disrespectful action, and my nerves are worn just thin enough to cave to her manipulation.

Grabbing her arm, I shove her back against the wall and snatch the cigarette from hand.

"This isn't a game, Amanda." I hiss, tossing the smoke to the ground and grinding my heel on it. "This isn't some poker hand you can win."

"No?" She repeats in the same mocking tone. "Then how will you punish me next... _sergeant_?"

Immediate anger and indignation seize the pounding of my heart, burning my chest, and I grab both of her arms to shake her, just to avoid the urge to smack her hard across the mouth; but it's then I notice the tears pooling in her eyes, fighting silently to spill over her lower lashes.

We stare at each other for one excruciating, cryptic moment, and although I'd be too ashamed to admit out loud that I can't take the pain hiding inside her scintillating gaze, the lowering of my head is admission enough.

She's lashing out because she's hurting, and perhaps I am responsible for that, but I cannot feel guilty. Her own actions led us to this moment, and for that very reason, I cannot rescind my ultimatum.

Lifting my head, I whisper, "We must go on from this, Amanda."

"Olivia…" She murmurs, unsteadily, as a single tear races from her eye, making a path towards her trembling lips.

"You're drunk." I cut in, stopping her from whatever unexpected thing she might say in her inebriation. "I'm going to take you home, and you're going to sober up, and really start thinking about what you're going to do to fix this."

Taking her by the arm, I drag her limp figure away from the wall, and begin to direct her towards the street where I parked the squad car. She staggers next to me, and I have to wrap my arm around her waist in order to make it to the vehicle.

"Liv…." She whimpers once more, sagging against me as we reach the passenger side door.

I struggle to hold her upright, but I can feel the strength draining from her muscles with every passing second. Her liquid courage is seeping beyond her reach, and with it, my own anger.

A sob breaks from her lips, and she crumples down against my chest, folding into a small, distraught mess. The force of her distress sucks the air straight from my lungs, replacing the burn of frustration with the ache of sadness, but beyond the pain of this moment, a small hope that reality has finally broken through flickers hesitantly in the back of my mind.

"Shhhh, honey…" I whisper, wrapping my arms around her as her body shudders.

She's clutching my shirt, rocking into me as she begs in a choked tone, "Please, don't do this to me,  _please…_ "

I clench my eyes shut, my heart seizing with the shard of guilt that goes through me. I know, in the most logical part of my brain, that what I've done is right, and may lead her to sobriety, but listening to her begging me with every fiber of her being is almost more than I can take.

If she were anyone else I would've already turned her into IAB. I wouldn't be standing here, holding her as she grasps at the very end of her rope. I wouldn't be here, hoping against hope that the ends will justify the means.

I don't want to admit it, but I still love her, and every part of me, physically and mentally, is agonizing and contorting in tandem with her desolate cries.

"Amanda…" I whisper, my throat tight with the knot of emotion resting there.

"Please," She cries, lifting her flushed, tear streaked face, "I've lost you...I can't lose my career too…"

"Amanda." I repeat through clenched teeth, closing my eyes against the tears brimming at my lids.

I'm holding onto my composure by bare threads, and she's sawing away at them, over and over, with the scalding knife of her anguish.

Squeezing her arms, I force my eyes open to look down at her desperate expression, her wide, wet, blue eyes and quivering mouth. I can't stop myself from sliding my hand up to her face and cupping her moistened cheek with every urge to crush her to me and kiss away what is left of these tears.

"Oh, sweetheart…" I whisper, almost too quiet to hear; too longing to be meant for her ears.

Her brow furrows, and she sucks in a breath as if she senses my inner conflict. I almost expect her to take advantage of my emotions, here at the highest peak of my weakness. I almost want her to press into me and lure me with the comfort of her body because this pain is too great, but it is here that she grows cold, tilting her face away from my hand.

"What do you want me to do?" She asks in a low, husky tone as she clutches at the front of my jacket.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my heart thrumming hard in my chest, my own desperation rising.

"I mean, I'll do anything." She whispers, her eyes glistening beneath the street lamps. "I'll take whatever punishment you want. Just….not this."

"B-but….I don't want to punish you." I insist, grabbing her face in both hands. "I want to see you happy! I want you to stop hurting yourself so that other people don't do it first! I want you to believe in yourself as much as I do!"

"I don't believe you!" She cries out, shoving my hands away from her face and replacing them with her own.

She leans against the car, hunched over as she pants into her hands. I want to protest, but the words seem stuck in my throat, my hands now useless at my sides. I watch her, a wrecking ball of emotion slamming into my chest over and over again. I want her to rise up and seize the opportunity to change, but as the silence ticks on, what little hope I've clung to wavers.

A wave of panic washes over me as I imagine walking into IAB, and destroying the career and life of the only person I've ever truly loved. I can hardly fathom the pain of giving testimony against her under the guise of leadership and responsibility, and taking the praise for removing another dirty cop from the NYPD under the pretext of morals and duty.

I wanted to believe that after my threats she'd finally reach a breakthrough and return to the meetings, leave gambling behind forever, but maybe she's falling short of my faith just one more time. Maybe it's my own willpower which has become a feast for my desires, gone in a second into the hungry mouth of love. They're possibilities I don't have the emotional fortitude to contemplate any longer.

I can barely even out my breathing as I step in closer to her, and gently touch her arm.

"Come on….Let's get you home." I whisper, ducking my head.

I'm disappointed in myself because I have her here at breaking point, but I can't bring myself to give the final blow. I can't pull the trigger. I can't end this because I'm afraid that if she reaches the other side, she truly will leave me behind, here at rock bottom, holding on to what's left of a memory.

Amanda hasn't answered me, and I can't look up at her. She'll see the tears swimming in my gaze, the terror hiding behind my eyes at the realization that I love her and it's killing me, little by little.

For a long moment, she doesn't move, but finally she drags her hands away from her face. She hardly meets gaze.

"I'm only letting you do this because I don't have any more money for a cab." She mutters in a raspy tone before she grabs the door handle, and steps quickly inside, slouching down in the seat.

_I just want you safe._

I don't speak the words as I close the door behind her.

With a low, wavering sigh, I glance back at the bar one last time, a wretched symbol of just how far we've fallen.

When I came here, I told myself that I am her sergeant, and only her sergeant; that our love affair is over with no chance of turning back. I told myself that I could hold my moral obligations above my desires to save her from herself - but now, I doubt not only her, but also myself. I don't know if I have the strength to report her to IAB - and I'm not sure I ever will.


	7. Demise

_Amanda_

The car is silent, the white noise thrumming against the slow numbing of my mind with a strange vibration. The aftermath of our arguments have always been like this - explosion after explosion, followed by this weightless, spacey existence, as if we're both wondering what it will be like to float away from each other forever, lost and empty.

The rain patters at my window, and when I gaze out, I can watch each single drop hit the window, then fly away, a meaningless speck of evaporation that is gone in instant to the stronger force of gravity. Am I the speck, or am I the wind?

I close my eyes over the slow burning of tears. I don't want to cry anymore, but every time reality pokes me with insistent fingers I can hardly stand to remain so brutally stoic. I've tried to brave my way through her disappointment and her anger before, but it's never produced a result worth living for; but now, for all my sobbing and despair, I've achieved nothing more than a paltry caress. Her hand upon my cheek for that moment would have been something I might've lived for in the past, but now it means nothing.

I feel the car slow, and turn a corner. When we roll to a stop, I open my eyes slowly. The street lights glimmer through my moistened gaze, and beyond, the safety of my apartment building calls me. Sitting forward, I dash at the tears before she can notice, and unlatch the seatbelt.

"Thanks for the ride." I whisper in a raspy tone, barely glancing at her as I grab the door handle.

"Amanda, wait." Her voice is low and stiff, though she hides her emotions well.

When I flick my eyes towards her, her brow is drawn, her gaze conflicted, but she hasn't shed a tear since we left the bar.

"What?" I ask, gruffly.

"Let me walk you up." She suggests after a moment of hesitation.

"This is my apartment building. I'm sure I'll be fine." I reply, turning towards the door once more, determined to make my escape.

Maybe for tonight, I can fall into bed and sleep through the hours of anxiety and hopelessness that are sure to await me once the door falls closed me behind and I find myself alone. I want nothing more than to find a peaceful oblivion, but she can't stop herself, even when she's vowed to drive the rest of my life to ruin.

"Amanda." She repeats, and I feel her hand on my arm, almost a quiet, desperate plea.

"Jesus," I mutter with a scoff, "Fine."

I shove the door open, and step out into the rain, ignoring the fact that I'm pathetic. Would I really take this as some kind of sign that there's still hope for my career? What part of me would cling to some silly hope that she'd change her mind? Maybe, I am still drunk.

She steps around the nose of the car and reaches my side. I can sense her hesitation, as if she's about to speak, and I quickly take away the possibility by walking briskly towards the building. I keep my head down as we reach the gate and I punch in the code.

As we head towards the stairs, her proximity to me grows heavy, an insistent claustrophobic feeling clogging my airways. Though I still feel sluggish from the alcohol and emotional exhaustion, I jog quickly upwards, praying that once we're at my door she'll leave me alone. I can't take much more of her presence, the veiled look of hurt and guilt hiding in her dark eyes. I don't want to collapse into her again, knowing that she'll refuse to hold me.

The sound of our boots hitting the stairs in a disjointed tandem are like a panicked heartbeat in my ears, and I find myself gasping as I reach the top, hardly able to breathe.

I spin around, ready to order that this is far enough, but she looks up too late. Her body rushes into mine and she grabs onto me as we stumble back into the wall.

"I'm sorry-" She begins at the exact moment I struggle to speak.

"Olivia-..."

Emotion rushes over me as our eyes clash in the dimly lit hall, and I can see her own tears scintillating off the pewter light. Her hands clutch down on my arms, her gaze darting across my expression almost frantically. I can feel my heart clamoring in my chest, my breath rushing from me in quick, trembling exhales as her body seems to weigh down with increasing pressure upon me.

There's bare seconds between our sudden rushed exchange and the physical contact that comes next, but it feels like excruciating minutes that drag out with each raspy breath echoing in my ears. Then, suddenly, she's crumbling, crushing into me. Her hands are quaking as she grabs my face, fingers digging into my hair. Her mouth captures mine, quick and hard, sending me reeling. I'm frozen beneath her, my hands grasping at the electric air around us while the rush of undiluted passion sparks stinging tears behind my tightly closed lids.

My whole body is screaming at me to react, to clutch her close in return, so hard that she won't ever be able to leave; but in my mind, the agony can only shred what's left of my heart into even tinier pieces. She'd grind what's left of my self worth into dust, only to pick me up like this and kiss me in the dawn of the eleventh hour?

I finally move, my hands rigidly grasping her shoulders with quaking resistance. Her mouth is searing me through with desperation, riddling me with each note of this swan song until I can't take any longer.

She breaks away from me, her head bent as she pants rapidly, her hands still tangled in my hair. My own fingers are rigid at her shoulders, my mouth tingling from the fervor if her kiss.

"Just give me a sign, Amanda." She whispers, huskily, at last. "Anything. Just don't make me do this to you."

For a moment, I can't speak. The taste of her is still on my tongue, lingering across my lips, and it's hard to turn it all to poison when she's been nothing but an antidote to me for so long, but the sweetness has soured, and I can't bear to swallow it.

"I-if you ever loved me…" I whisper, haltingly, "let me go."

I feel a tremble go through her, followed by a sharp exhale. She remains against me for several, long seconds, and I can feel the emotion welling up in my chest through each and every one. I clench my teeth against the tears that seek to find their voice, and use the last of my strength to push her back. She steps back slowly, dragging her hands across her face before clasping them over her quivering lips. In the dim light of the hall, her watery gaze pleads with me. Her voice need not to be heard to travel through space and time, but I can't listen any longer.

I push myself unsteadily away from the wall, and drag the back of my hand across my mouth, removing the final traces of her saliva. Her eyes are heavy upon me, and I know she's still waiting for some affirmation that I will bend to her will. It won't come.

"Go do what you want, Olivia." I finally whisper raspily.

Her eyes widen, her face twisting in pain at the meaning of my words, and I turn away before her expression can strike me with the guilt that is well deserved. My hands are shaking as I fumble for my keys, and desperately shove it into the lock of my apartment door.

"Amanda…" She tries one more time, her tone strangled as she steps towards me again.

"I said go!" I cry out, turning to gaze at her with a watery glare. "Go fucking do what you want! If you want to destroy my life, then go fucking do it. Do it until it makes you sick!"

Her face full of shock and horror blurs before my eyes and I spin away, wrenching the lock open. Shoving inside, I slam the door behind me, and lean heavily against it. I can hear my breath rasping against my ears, and the sobs bubble up my throat, unchecked.

I hear her call my name, her voice rising to an uneven, unhinged crescendo. Her fist bangs once on the door, and I flinch, biting down hard on my lower lip to stop the sounds of my crying from reaching her ears. Reaching back with a wobbling grip, I twist the deadbolt, securing the barrier between us. Sucking in shallow, panicked breaths, I slide down against the door and bury my head in my arms. I force myself not to hear her pleading from beyond the other side until everything falls silent.

The unsettling quiet blankets the apartment, save for the sound of the refrigerator clicking on a few yards away in the kitchen. Still, I don't move. I crouch there on the floor until my legs begin to ache from lack of circulation, and the tears have made dried paths down my cheeks.

In a daze, I drag myself up from the floor and walk to the bedroom. A numbness has overtaken my body, and as I crawl in bed, the remaining effects of the alcohol seize my weary mind, dragging me to a sleep that neither restful nor peaceful.

When I awake again, I'm viscerally aware of the dreams that tossed me to and fro, filled with nightmares of her, of IAB, of the addiction that has taken over my life.

Sitting up, I dig in my pocket. There's $84, crumpled up in a few twenties and ones. It's enough for one more night.

**xxxxx**

_2 Months Later_

It's been over two months since the night she leveraged her ultimatum. A whole sixty-six days, and I wonder if the devil's number is some kind of horrible omen, that maybe tonight will finally be the night she decides to turn me in. Everyday, I expect to see IAB at my desk when I walk in to work, and every night when I sit down at the table, I try to convince myself that I'm doing this because if I can win just enough to pay off my debts, then maybe I can get out.

I used to think I could quit gambling tomorrow if I wanted to, if my situation got bad enough, but my perception of 'bad enough' changed day to day, the more intense the obsession became. I knew I'd lost sight when I was on my knees in an alleyway in order to stave off the mounting debt. Olivia never knew about that night, but she doesn't know a lot of things. In her mind, I can simply walk away, but when half a dozen bookies on the West End have your name on an envelope in their desk, walking away isn't so simple. Now, for every minute of the day, I wish that it were.

Maybe, I had finally understood that night in the bar that I really did loathe this wretched addiction. Maybe, it was even before she called me into her office with that photo that I realized that the excitement of gambling had turned to dread. Instead of flying high, I'd find myself crashing to the ground again and again, unable to disentangle myself from the pain, even when it was at its worst. It's often now that the night ends in a flood of tears while I'm bent over the toilet, purging the alcohol that had washed down the bitterness of the evening's escapades. So many times, lying on the bathroom floor, I've tried to reach for the phone, for the only person that's ever tried to give me a second chance, only to remember her words:  _This is a wake up call, Amanda. The last one I'm going to give you_.

The next day when I would see her at the precinct, I'd grapple with the concept that I love her, and that she could destroy me. Every day that she doesn't report me is one more day to long for her instead of hate her, and I can barely stand the back and forth. My heart is tired and stretched thin, and most nights I want to just go to her, and confess how fucking exhausted I am. But I can't. I'm nothing to her as long as I have this addiction. I may be nothing to her for the rest of my life, and I'm sure that her hesitation at handing me over to IAB is born from some strange reminiscence of the time that she did love me rather than a present awareness of our feelings towards each other.

Even if I had some small hope of her still loving me, I can't escape all the memories of her screaming at me that's she's not my savior, not my reason to find sobriety again, not even my lover anymore. If I am ever going to get out it's going to be by the strength in my own hands, and on some days I feel there's nothing left.

Some days, I wake up, so angry with myself, and with gambling that I spend hours plotting on how to escape, while other days, I wonder at the point of even trying. If I'm already drowning in the middle of the ocean with no shoreline in sight it might be less painless to simply dip my head beneath the water of my own volition. Still other days, a resolute anxiety grips me, reminding me of everything I have to lose should I fall from this carefully balanced blade. I'm frozen with the fear of my life ending in either prison or a never-ending enslavement to gambling. These days drive me to the table more often than the anger or depression as I cling to the slim thought that one day I could win enough to walk away, debt-free, just as Oliva wants me to.

Tonight is the final hours of one of those days.

Tonight, day sixty-six, I bolster my failing confidence by dressing in a bold, flared, white blouse, and blood orange lipstick. I keep my chin up as I ride the old, cage like elevator to my destination. I've only been to this gambling room a few times, but the level of security is impeccable, and I'm confident Olivia wouldn't be able to track me to this location if she so desired.

After gaining entrance, I find a table, and immediately pull out the crumpled box of cigarettes from my back pocket. Sticking one between my lips, I search my pockets for my lighter.

"Need a light?" An accented voice next to me inquires.

I glance over to see handsome, middle aged man offering me his flickering lighter. I've seen him here before, and while we've never been at the same table, I've noticed him glancing in my direction.

"Thanks." I murmur, leaning in to allow the tip of the cigarette to meet the lighter.

Typically, I take advantage of any man that stares at me for too long over his cards. His distraction means a better chance of my winning, but tonight it doesn't come so easily. The queasy feeling that followed me here hasn't left, and I find it difficult to scrounge up some flirtatious exchange.

"A drink for you?" He asks with a smile.

"Sure." I reply, forcing nonchalance. "Whiskey on the rocks."

As he calls for the waitress, I notice his own drink is already nearly gone, and his chips much in the same condition. Perhaps, I won't need to do too much to outsmart this particular patron tonight, and I'm relieved for the small favor.

The dealer is laying out the cards by the time my drink arrives, and I try to refocus as I pick up my hand. Squinting my eyes at the numbers and symbols, I do my best to strategize despite the apprehensive feeling in my gut. The paranoid half of my brain skitters off in other directions, nudging me to check my surroundings, but I can't look suspicious when I'm in the middle of a round. I eagerly take several sips of the whiskey, hoping to dull the sharp edges of anxiety prodding at my stomach.

Halfway through the hand, however, frustration is beginning to seize me. I'm already down more than I arrived with, and I'm starting to wonder if I should call it a night. The nagging sense of alarm hasn't cleared from chest, even beneath the soothing hand of alcohol and nicotine, and I'm panicked to realize that my concentration is becoming lost beneath the waves foreboding.

 _Come on, get it the fuck together_. I tell myself, sucking at the cigarette to bolster my determination. I can't afford to forfeit or lose tonight.

Glancing up at the dealer, I blow out the smoke, and order, "Hit me."

"You do know you have a sixteen against a dealer's three?" He comments with a raised brow.

"Yeah," I snap in return, "How about you count your cards and I'll count mine."

Despite my quick, sarcastic remark, my heart is pounding in my chest. I'm taking a risky chance that could either save me or ruin me, though the latter is more likely; but I have to do something. My mind has been turning all day, my sense of trepidation unexplainably intense.

From beside me, I hear my gambling partner exclaim, boisterously. He's only grown more drunk since I arrived, and though he's been wise enough to keep his hands away from me, I notice out of the corner of my eye that the young waitress he has around the waist isn't so lucky. I've seen plenty of distasteful things behind these closed doors, some I am not proud to have done nothing about, but I've learned to keep my eyes on my own cards in order to guard my identity.

"Mmmm…" He growls, and in my peripheral I can see him nuzzling her. "How about a kiss, huh? And one for my new friend?"

My stomach sinks as I realize he's referring to me. I'm ready to give him a quick reprimand, a refusal of his offer, but when I look up, I'm not ready for the girl staring back me, her gaze kindling with recognition.

Our eyes lock, and we stare at each other for a long moment as the culmination of the unsettling premonitions of this night collapse upon me all at once, hitting me with all the force of a speeding train in one, single second. I could tell myself all the lies I want - she doesn't recognize me, she won't rat me out as a police officer, Olivia won't find out - but I know the truth, and the meaning of it flashes before my eyes with a chilling doom.

Clare Wilson knows exactly who I am, and short of turning back time, there's not a goddamned thing I can do.


	8. Departure

**Post: "Gambler's Fallacy"**

* * *

 

_Olivia_

_One Week Later_

I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a war battling on inside me. The entire situation with Nadari and Lieutenant Murphy was initially Amanda's sole responsibility in my mind, but somewhere between understanding that she'd returned to gambling and realizing that, despite how close she'd come to prison, she'd managed to escape relatively unscathed, I was profoundly impacted by the the fact that I could've prevented that course of events. I'd promised Amanda I would turn her in to IAB should she continue to gamble, but I didn't have the backbone to follow through. I allowed her pathetic behavior to manipulate me into giving her the chance to return to the same, destructive patterns as before. If I had remained firm, and given her the consequences she'd needed to rouse herself from this fog of addiction, she might never have entered that club. I feel guilty that I didn't hold to my promise, and determined not to make the same mistake again. The days of my giving her endless chances are over.

That this resolution is born from bitterness is a concept I hardly want to contemplate. Every day that I see her I am reminded of the many times that she threw away our relationship, both personally and professionally, in exchange for gambling. The past trauma of every single relapse is ingrained into my brain with startlingly vivid recollection. I hardly need to close my eyes to remember each incident in which I discovered evidence of her gambling.

Yes, a part of me is angry, clinging to the betrayal with every ounce of strength that my shattered heart may still hold, and it's that part of me that keeps me rigid and stern in her presence now. The balance between lashing out and falling to pieces is a tenuous one that becomes more and more difficult as each day passes.

I've thrown myself into my role as her sergeant, compartmentalizing what parts of me are left to remember our failed romance while inside the precinct, and I tell myself that my strict way with her in the past week is well earned. But each time I pull her into this office to scold her for some misstep, it soothes the ache inside me that would've seen her transferred as far from me as possible. I justify it with her own words, that she would earn my trust again in whatever way possible.

So far, she is failing.

From my stance inside the captain's office I can see Amanda's desk facing the opposite direction, her head bent over an open case file. Her report should've been on my desk two hours ago. I've reminded her three times.

Glancing towards my watch, I note the late hour. I should be leaving for the evening if I have any hope of getting a full night's sleep. After last week's events, I've struggled to get my necessary seven hours, and the exhaustion is weighing heavy on my lids even now. Last night I only managed to sleep for five in between the tossing and turning.

I am frustrated and tired. I shouldn't be standing here waiting for her to deliver, gently reminding her like a child who can't complete their homework.

With a click of my tongue, I uncross my arms, and stride to the door. Pulling it open, I call her name across the the squad room. She startles, glancing back over her shoulder at me. Her expression is strained and conflicted.

"Can you come in here?" I ask, motioning for her to follow me as I turn back towards my desk.

As I take a seat, I watch her walk slowly across the squad room, her head lowered. She knows what's coming.

When she reaches the threshold, she shuts the door behind her, remaining there with her back to me for an extended moment.

"I'm sorry about this report." She begins, turning towards me with a wave of her hand.

I can tell she's attempting nonchalance, but I can see the tears forming her eyes. She expects me to rip into her until she's raw with my disappointment, and I swallow against the knot in my throat, the tiniest shred of guilt that would choke me.

"Amanda…" I murmur, glancing down towards the desktop to soothe the seizing of my chest.

I've tried to numb myself to her watery, desperate gaze because she's stood in front of me so many times, vowing to change her behavior, only to let me down time and again. She deserves every reprimand I could give her, and yet a part of me burns with her, as if we're somehow intertwined in our bones.

"Look, I just need one more day." She cuts in, her tone low above a barely controlled tremor.

I clench my jaw, shaking my head slowly. Her emotional distress may sting me, but her lack of reliability only reminds me of exactly why I have hardened myself to her.

"You know you're only here by the grace of my hand." I respond, quietly, lifting my eyes steadily back to her.

The dull throb of conflicted anger and hurt takes over the racing of my heart, and I clutch my hands together in front of me, til my knuckles bleach white.

She quiets, and I can see a stoic mask veil her features. She ducks her head, lips pursing as her throat bobs. For a long moment, she stares at the floor, pushing down tears that she knows I don't want to see. Lifting her head at last, she squares her shoulders, and attempts to courageously meet my gaze.

"Yes, ma'am." She whispers, haltingly. "I know...a-and I'm going do better. I promise."

I nod, slowly, resisting the words of doubt that want to spill, venomously, from my lips. Not a single part of me believes her specious promises, but accusations will do nothing at this point.

Standing, slowly, from the desk, I pace towards the front and lean on the edge. I can see her watching me, her lids fluttering in a nervous tick. Folding my arms, I cant my head towards the space next to me.

"Come here." I order, softly.

Her nostrils flare slightly, and I can nearly see the tremor going through her, but she steels herself once more, and crosses the room towards me. She stops two feet away from me, her body rigid, her expression untrusting. If anyone has a right to be untrusting, it's me, and I refuse to feel apprehension over forcing her to prove herself.

"Pockets out." I say, causing her to flinch.

"Liv…" She whispers, her eye flitting away as her voice dips into a plea.

"Do it." I reply, firmly.

I can see the tears shimmering in her eyes as she hesitates, biting her lip so hard that I can see the color bleed from her flesh.

"If you want to earn my trust," I continue with sharp enunciation, "you'll prove to me that you aren't gambling again."

"B-but I'm not." The plea bubbles up to her lips, one quick tear sliding down her cheek before she dashes it away.

"That's not good enough, Amanda." I say with a condemning shake of my head.

I've already failed once in giving her the proper consequences to her actions, and I will be damned if it destroys not only our relationship, but this precinct as well. The incident with Nadari will remain classified due to the nature of Lieutenant Murphy's operation, but next time, I may not be so lucky. Next time, the repercussions of her actions may bring the entire force of IAB down on all of our heads, and that is a possibility I don't even dare to entertain.

"Now, empty them." I command, clenching my arms tighter across my chest if only to hold myself back from grabbing her and shaking her. I cannot touch her. Not now, and not ever again.

"I'm trying, Liv." She whispers, although she begins to comply. "I'm trying to make you believe me."

"I don't want promises. I want actions."

I watch her, my gaze unwavering as she shoves her hand into each pocket. When she's done, I am relieved to see that there's only a set of keys, her cell phone, and a pack of cigarettes sitting on my desk. It does not prove beyond a doubt that she hasn't been gambling, but it gives me some peace of mind that she hasn't it made it readily available for discovery.

"See." She says, gesturing to the desk.

"I see." I reply. "Thank you, Amanda."

"I hope you got your fucking kicks." She snaps, stepping into snatch her things from the desk.

Her cheeks are flushed with humiliation, and I am brutally aware of the embarrassment of being stripped of one's privacy, but I don't believe that she's earned that privilege with me, and therefore, has no right to be disrespectful. Her words are a slap in my face, an utter disregard for my rank.

In a flash of indignation, I grab her arm, my fingers clenching tight about her flesh in an impulsive action I swore I wouldn't take.

I'm ready to decimate her with a burning tongue-lashing, professional decorum be damned. I'm ready to lose every ounce of cool composure I've held rigidly in place for over a week, but I'm stopped cold. Our noses are bare inches apart, our breath mingling in the same cloud of space between us, and it's then that I smell it.

An intense wave of painful sense memories crash through my chest, intertwining with every other betrayal and vice that has torn us apart. I feel my fingers bite into her arm, watch her confused expression twist in pain.

"What?" She demands in a whisper, her expression reading horrified apprehension.

"Are…" The words feel stuck in my throat, raw and sour on my tongue. "Are you drunk?"

Mortification crawls across her face, a slow, steady bleeding of flushed red. She yanks her arm away from me quickly, denial already sputtering on her lips, but I won't believe her.

"No. What the fuck? Why would you say that?" She scoffs, grabbing the rest of her belongings with trembling fingers.

"Don't lie to me, Amanda." I demand, shoving away from the desk.

I would know those smells anywhere, the sharp concentration of alcohol signaling one more night of torture and conflict. Memories dangle heavy from that scent, reeling up from the deep to cloud my mind with a dozen different Pavlovian responses. For a moment, I don't know which one to follow.

I should've seen the signs before - the lack of concentration, the nodding off at her desk, the showing up late to work. After all of the time I spent living underneath an alcoholic's roof I should scrutinize every detail, but despite what I want to believe, maybe I had wanted to think that she'd finally woken up from this perilous slumber of addiction.

"I'm fine." Amanda insists, holding up her hands to stop me from touching her again. "It was one drink, ok?"

My shocked stupor snaps at her defensive, loathsome reply. I've always known that Amanda enjoys drinking, especially when gambling, but I am enraged that she would do so here, in a place where she took an oath to protect citizens and fellow officers.

"On the job?" I breathe, a hot rush of the fire that's kindled in my chest, ignoring her posture as I charge towards her. "On my watch?"

"Yes, Liv, especially 'on your watch'." She sneers up at me, rearing into my face with another blast of whiskey tainted breath. "Because you make this place fucking unbearable! What are you gonna do next, huh? Fucking strip search me?"

"Maybe I should!" My voice rises to a shout, the loudest tone I've ever used with her, but I can't stop the pain and the anger swirling through my mind. "I cannot trust you in any aspect anymore. You're jeopardizing this entire precinct! Why would you do that?"

"Oh, well there's a question I've never heard before." She exclaims, spinning away from me.

"What does that mean?" I demand, grabbing her arm once more and yanking her into place in front of me.

She's panting, her hair tossed across her flustered expression, and with our faces so close, I can see the glaze over her eyes and feel the overwhelming tinge of alcohol on my cheeks. The image strikes terror through my veins with the fear that she has turned from one vice to another, one much more legal and concealable in many ways. Tear burn my eyes, forcing a quiver into my every exhale.

"What do you mean?" I repeat in a raspy whisper.

"The whole time we were together you never even tried to understand." She replies, her voice cracking beneath the devastating accusation. "Not fucking once did you ask  _why_. You just wanted me to fucking stop."

"Amanda, that is not what this is about." I insist, although my heart is breaking all over again, shattering with the possibility that I've never helped her - only hurt her.

"No?" She asks, her eyes narrowing over glittering tears. "Isn't that what this is all about?"

"Amanda…" I repeat, although the bold anger has fled from my tone, leaving me breathless. "I just wanted you to help yourself."

"Right." She whispers, "You hate me. You're disgusted with me. Please...just admit it!"

She jerks away from me, ripping her arms from my weakening grasp. She backs away from me, and I can see the despair winding its way across every curve of her brow and twist of her features.

"No." I whisper around the choking emotion, reaching out for her once more. "I do not hate you."

"You can't stand what I am!" She cries, quick tears tracking down her cheeks. "Well, here's some good news for you: neither can I."

She spins around, and runs towards the door, fleeing as if this will be here final escape. All I can think is that the last time she ran from this room I found her in a bar, drunk and devoid of hope.

"Amanda, wait!"

It's a pitiful attempt at persuasion as I realize that I have distanced myself from her with such ire that I am the last person she will listen to. My trust in her is gone, and with a sharp breath of dismay, I recognize the fact that her trust in me has also disintegrated.

I rush after her, but the office door slams in my face, and I grab onto the frame as a wave of emotion engulfs me, crashing down on me like a landslide that has finally given way. Through the blinds and my tears, I can see her leaving the precinct, and I can only hope that it is not for the last time.

**xxxxxx**

The next morning comes too quickly. By five am, I am staring at the ceiling, wide awake with thoughts and anxieties. I check my phone for any messages from Amanda, but my inbox is empty.

I didn't go after her last night. I couldn't bring myself to extend my emotions any further, and all the investigating I could do was to drive by her apartment to ensure that she'd made it there. I assuaged the guilt with the thought that as long as she was inside her own home she couldn't be harmed. A lie, but a justification nonetheless.

I hope to fall back to sleep in order to escape the damning thoughts, but soon enough, my eyes are open again, my mind forming outlandish scenarios.

There isn't much of a point of remaining in bed at this point, and I'd rather busy myself than falling victim to panic. Typically, I would enjoy a leisurely morning routine, but today the time passes slowly. For the first time in over a week I am anxious to get to work in order to see Amanda. I would be satisfied with simply seeing her at her desk, sober and safe.

I am in no way ready to completely forgive and trust her. In fact, I've just begun to realize that I have to draw up a report on her intoxication last night. It's the last thing I want to do, but I would rather see her receive a command discipline and desk duty than continue this pattern of self medication. Her behavior last night scared me in ways I have not felt in many years, and it's hard not to remember my mother's passing. She may have been telling the truth when she told me it was only one drink, but in my opinion, it was one too many for her fragile state of mind.

I am on my fourth cup of coffee by the time I arrive at the precinct, and I try to remain calm and inconspicuous as the doors of the elevator slide open. I stride into the squad room, my eyes immediately roving over Amanda's desk - a desk that is empty.

Swallowing the tiny seed of assumptions and panic, I notice Nick already at his desk, taking a call. I approach him, waiting impatiently until he sets the phone down.

"Hey, Liv." He says, jotting down a note on a sticky pad, unaware of my silent alarm.

"Have you spoken with Rollins?" I ask, sitting down at the edge of the desk.

"No." Nick replies, glancing up at me with a frown. "What's up?"

"Nothing yet." I murmur, watching her desk as if I can will her into existence behind it.

"You sure?"

"I had a talk with her last night, and she left upset."

"Oh…" Nick says, slowly, before assuring me, teasingly. "I'm sure she's fine, Liv. We all know you're all bark and no bite."

"Oh? You wanna try me?" I joke in return, smacking his arm as I leave the desk.

The smile falls from my mouth as soon as my back is turned. This was more than a stern talking-to, and Nick is far from conscious of just how horribly wrong the conversation turned.

I lock myself in my office, keeping the blinds open in order have a clear line of sight to Amanda's desk. Fin arrives less than half an hour later, and my stomach is beginning to twist with concern as the minute hand rounds the clock. I still have no messages from Amanda.

Finally, I pick up the phone, and dial her number. Staring down at the desk, I listen to the shrill ring, over and over again until the voicemail picks up.

"Amanda, it's Liv. Please let me know if you're going to be late  _before_  you do it. It's past eight o' clock."

I hang up the phone, ignoring the nagging feeling that Amanda isn't late or simply trying to spite me. Nothing in me wants to trust my gut instinct in this moment, but each minute that passes is a dooming countdown. To what I do not know.

As the work day creeps into the second hour, I attempt another phone call, and then another, and another. Each and every one ring to the voicemail.

"Come on, Amanda," I insist on my fourth phone call. "You're going to get damn sick of hearing this phone ring. I'm not going to yell at you. Just please get your butt in here."

I'm tossing the phone to the desk when I hear a knock on the door. Glancing up, I see Fin outside the door, motioning for me to let him in. I wave at him to enter, and he steps inside, shutting the door behind him.

"What's going on?" I ask, rubbing my fingers over my temples.

"I wanted to show you something." Fin said, approaching the desk with his cellphone in hand.

"What is it?" I ask, my stomach immediately clenching with fear.

He sets the phone down on the desk, and slides it across from me, his expression barely guarding the twinlike foreboding hiding on both our faces. Grabbing my glasses, I take the phone, noticing the screen is opened to a text message thread. I feel my heart beginning to pound at the sight of Amanda's name at the top, and the string of messages below:

_**A** : I don't know what to do_

_**F** : Whats_ _up?_

_**A** : Liv just ripped me a new one again. I snapped._

_**F** : Wait what exactly happened?_

_**A** : She caught me drinking at work I'm fuckin done_

_**F** : Hold on let's meet up u can come to my place if u want_

_**A** : Idk dude my life is just kind of over rn_

_**F** : Meet me come on we can fix this_

_**A** : Whatever I'll be ok I'm just screwed when it comes to her_

_**F** : U sure ur good?_

_**A** : I'll survive_

_**F** : I got u baby u know that_

_**A** : Yeah_

_**F** : OK I will b here_

The messages end abruptly, and I skim over them again and again, searching for some hidden sign that there was contact between them after this point. I note that the last message was sent only an hour after she fled the precinct.

"Have you spoken to her since these?" I ask, glancing up at Fin.

"No." He said with a sigh, "At the time, I thought she'd be okay, you know? Rollins is strong girl."

"I know, Fin." I reply, quietly, handing the phone back to him. "Why don't you give her a call? If she doesn't answer I'm going over to her apartment."

He nods, and quickly dials. As he waits for the phone to pick up, I stand from the desk, and grab my keys. At this point, my stomach is turning over and over, and the racing of my heart has not calmed. I have little hope that Amanda will answer the phone, and I'm becoming increasingly afraid that something has happened between her text messages to Fin and this moment.

I'm pacing, a small part of me hoping that she will pick up the phone, and we can both be relieved that she's only screwing with me out of anger. Insubordination is something I can deal with coming from Amanda, but anything else may be out of my control - and that scares the hell out of me.

A moment later Fin hangs up with a shake of his head, landing a blow of panic to the center of my chest.

"No answer." He says, grimly.

"I'm going." I say, turning away to grab my coat from the hook with a cold, shaky hand.

"I'll come with you." Fin suggests, following after me.

"No, I need you and Nick here to hold down the fort." I reply, shoving the coat onto my arms. "Besides, she is my officer, and this is my problem."

"Are you sure?" Fin asks, concern lining his features as he realizes just how shaken I am.

"Yes, Fin, I'm sure."

"But you'll call me if there's anything I need to know." Fin insists, watching my harried movements.

"Of course." I reply, meeting his eyes in reassurance before yanking the door open, and I striding out of the office.

The rest of the world is a blur around me, save for the singular path towards Amanda's apartment, and all I can think of is her last words to me. Inside, I'm begging for one more chance to show her that what she said isn't true. I don't hate her. All I can possibly do is love her in so many ways I can't understand, even if it means walking across broken glass to reach her heart.

Last night, I prayed that I'd see her here again, that her tear stained face and turned back would not be my final memory of her. Now, I can only demand that God not be deaf.


	9. Death

_Olivia_

The drive to Amanda's apartment from the precinct leaves me on the edge of panic, my mind whirring with impatience at every slow cab in front of me and every red light which halts my progress. The shallow, fluttering racing of my heart causes nausea to roil up in my stomach while my grasp on the wheel becomes slick in a cold sweat.

When I finally reach her apartment complex, I park illegally next to the curb in the tight space between the stop sign and the first parking space, ignoring the fact that I may return to a ticket. Shoving the door open, I jog up the sidewalk where I see an elderly man leaving through the gate.

"Hold the door!" I call out, grabbing at my badge at my hip.

Running up the steps two at a time, I blast past his surprised expression, and towards the stairs.

The path to her door is one I've walked a hundred times, and remembering every time I trudged up these steps in frustration, or ran down them in anger tracks across my mind like burning reminders that I could've done more. If anything happens to Amanda, I will never forgive myself. I'm not even sure how I will live with myself.

When I reach the top of the stairs, I'm panting with exertion, my body trembling in dread. I slam my fist against her door, calling out to her.

"Amanda! Are you in there?"

I listen, my ears straining for any sign of her existence behind the door, but all I can hear is silence, punctuated by the sounds of neighbors down the hallway. From above, a baby begins to scream, only adding to my frenzied state.

"Amanda!" I repeat, knocking rapidly once more. "If you're in there open the door!"

I grab the door knob, and jiggle it in the small hope that it will be open, but I'm only met by the resistance of the lock.

"Goddamnit." I hiss, slamming the heel of my hand into the door.

"Hey!" A man shouts from the down the hallway. "Do you mind, lady?"

I send scathing glare down the hall, and he shakes his head with a disgusted sound before turning, and disappearing back into his own apartment with a rattling slam of his door.

Glancing back at Amanda's door, I'm about to knock again when I realize that I already have the solution resting in my hand. With trembling fingers, I flip through the keys on my keyring until I find it hidden there amongst the other metal teeth - Amanda's apartment key. It's been so long since I was inside this building and her home that I had nearly forgotten. She'd never asked for it back, and maybe I had held onto it with some naive hope that one day I would need it again. I'd never imagined that it would in this situation, but now I am grateful for my pitiful daydreams.

Grabbing the door handle, I waste no more time in shoving the key into the lock, and twisting it open. Bursting inside, I call her name again, my wide eyes darting across the space.

The living room is barren, and I rush to the kitchen, panting as I catch sight of the beer cans and bottles dotting the table and counter. My stomach surges with a sick feeling, as if all of my premonitions are slowly cementing themselves into reality. Spinning from the appalling sight, I call her name once more, and I can hear the desperation winding into my voice through the buzzing of my ears.

Charging from the kitchen, I rush to the bathroom, but it is also hauntingly empty. When I gaze down the hall to the final room, cold trepidation grips me at the sight of the bedroom door slightly ajar.

"A-Amanda…?" My voice trembles, and I can feel my heart slamming into my ribs, the blood pounding in my ears.

The panic has sucked the moisture from my mouth, and I swallow hard on a dry tongue as I step towards the bedroom. It's only a short distance, but it is the most treacherous path that I have a tread in my search for her. Beyond is a room where we have made love, where we have cried in the early hours of the morning, where we have fought, and we have forgiven.

 _God,_ I whisper in my mind,  _Please, don't let it be where she takes her final breath._

My vision blurs sharply as I reach the bedroom door, my toes mere inches from the threshold. I reach out with a quavering hand, and my fingers slide over the smooth surface of the door, swinging it open. With a creak, the last barrier in my quest for her slips away, revealing that familiar space, and across from me, the bed.

The breath leaves my lungs at the image of her there, facedown, her naked body barely covered in the rumped sheet. For a moment, I can hardly move, struck my the fact that she is silent and still.

"Amanda…" Her name leaves my lips like a prayer, and I finally break from the door.

When I reach her side, I gasp at the vomit spilling down the sheet and towards the floor. Her hair is a mess about her head, strands dried into the regurgitated food and alcohol. I cannot see any blood or physical injuries, but relief is the farthest thing from my mind when her body lies starkly in front of me, deathlike.

"Oh, honey…." I whisper, reaching out to push the tangled locks away from her face.

When my fingers brush her cheek, horror tears a dark path through me. Her flesh is cold, and as her face comes into view, I realize a blue tinge has taken over her glowing, pink cheeks. Her eyes are half closed, revealing only bloodshot white, and her mouth slack in unconsciousness. I yank my hand back, the breath rushing from me in shock as I stumble back for half a second. True and real panic seizes me, leaving my extremities numb and tingling.

"Amanda!" I finally find my voice in the form of a hysterical cry, right on the verge of a scream. "Oh my God, no!"

Dropping to the bed next to her, I heave her onto her back with only the strength of the adrenaline rushing through my bloodstream. I'm shaking, barely able to control my limbs as I grab at her clammy neck, searching for a pulse.

"Fuck, no, Amanda, no…No, this isn't fucking happening..." I hear myself groaning somewhere in the back of my mind, but all I can feel is how cold her skin is beneath mine.

I'm panting, on the borderline of hyperventilation, as I bend over her, pressing my ear to her naked chest. Above me, I can see her head tilted back, her ashen face expressionless. Grasping at her body, I squeeze her arms hard enough to bruise as I pray to find a pulse.

"Jesus, please…." I whimper as I strain to hear the low thrum of a heartbeat in her chest.

Finally, the faint rush of her blood drums against my ear, and I gasp a breath of relief, rubbing at her arm to try to rouse her.

"Come on, Amanda, just take a breath for me, baby, just one." I plead, hovering over her.

The damning knowledge that her heartbeat will not last long without oxygen hangs over me as I shake her, but she remains motionless beneath me. Finally, I clamber onto my knees next to her, and bend over her face. I can hardly stand to gaze at her emotionless face as I pinch her nose with one hand and lift her chin with the other. I'm shaking, a tear slipping down my nose as I hover over her for half a second, attempting to regain control over my breathing in order to give her the strength in my lungs.

Finally, I clasp my mouth to her cold lips, and breath out. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her chest expand with the forced oxygen, and I lean back, counting each excruciating second until I can breathe for her again. Locking our mouths a second time, I release the air into her throat.

"Come on, baby, you can do this." I whisper, waiting on the edge of desperation for her to breath on her own.

Every second that passes is torture, scratching across my senses with the possibility that I may have made it here too late. Remembering my irritation at her lack of punctuality this morning, I want to kick myself to a bloody mess for the time that I wasted. Now, she may slip from my fingers forever, and I know I will not be able to cope with the reality of that future. I've told her so many times that there is more to life than me, but staring down at her fleshly shell, I can barely imagine going on without her soul inhabiting it. If I cannot look into her eyes, or hear or her laugh, or feel her arms around me; if she is no longer on this Earth I do not want to live.

The desperation that grips me drives the hopelessness from my veins, screaming at me to do something to ensure that she will make it beyond this moment. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I stab to emergency call button and set the phone to speaker. Bending over her again, I firmly grasp her nose and chin and breathe a steady breath into her lungs.

"911, what's your emergency?" My phone chatters from the bed.

Snatching it up, I steady my voice in order to speak. "Yes, I need an ambulance. I'm a sergeant with the NYPD, and I have a 32 year old female with alcohol poisoning. She's got a pulse, but I'm breathing for her."

Tossing the phone down, I perform another breath on her before I check her pulse again. I'm relieved to feel that it's still there, chugging softly beneath her chilled flesh.

"What address are you calling from?" The operator asks.

I distractedly rattle off Amanda's address before covering her mouth again and breathing. When I pull back, she suddenly twitches beneath me, the first sign of life I have been able to detect aside from her weakened heartbeat.

"Amanda?" I demand, grabbing her face, and giving her a shake.

She sputters, convulsing in my arms before she begins to gag. Her eyes are still rolled back, and vomit is bubbling up her throat, but all I can focus on is the fact that she is moving.

"Hold on, baby!" I cry, quaking in relief as I roll her onto her side in order to keep her from aspirating.

Holding her from behind, I drag her hair out of her face as she coughs and retches over the side of the bed again. The smell of alcohol and bile is rancid, but I don't care. Wrapping my arms around her chest and stomach, I rock her slowly until she collapses back into my arms, wheezing haltingly. The exhales are unsteady with long seconds in between, but I am grateful to hear anything at all.

"You're gonna be okay, sweetheart." I whisper, petting her hair back behind her ear. "Help is on the way. I've got you…"

She sags limply against me, still too inebriated to function, but I squeeze her tight, pressing my face to the back of her neck as tears of relief overwhelm me. Sobbing into her hair, I cradle her body until I hear sirens in the distance, wailing closer. Soon, they will be here to take her away from me, but I swear to myself and to her that it won't be forever this time.

 _Never again._  I silently vow, clinging to her at the paramedic's footsteps pound up the stairs below.

In our last few moments of solitude, I kiss her cheek, and pray that she understands.

**xxxxx**

Leaning on the wall outside of Amanda's hospital room, I'm cradling my forehead in one hand and a cold cup of coffee in the other. It's been an hour since we arrived, and they rolled her half conscious body away, assuring me of an update soon. I'm confident of the doctor's abilities, but the 'what if' rests in my mind like a parasite I can't get rid of.

Glancing at my watch, I realize it's barely ten am, but the mental and emotional exhaustion has twisted my perception of time into hours upon unbearable hours. If I could find the peace of mind, all I would want is my bed and a long, uninterrupted sleep.

"Liv!"

I startle when hear Fin call my name from down the hall. I glance up to see him jogging towards me, his features strained with concern.

I'd barely managed to send him a text, asking him to meet me here, half an hour ago. That task alone had seemed laborious, and even now, I dread telling him the truth of the state in which I found her. Although I could not have predicted her behavior and decisions, I feel somehow responsible, and utterly ashamed.

"Hey," I say, quietly, as he meets me in the quiet hall.

"What the hell happened?" He demands, anxiously, "Is Amanda all right?"

"Sh-she'll probably be fine." I say, holding up a hand to slow the pace of his questions.

"Probably?" He repeats in a shocked tone, his brows rising quickly.

"Let's find somewhere to sit." I suggest, turning away to hide the stinging of tears in my eyes before he can notice.

Nothing inside me wants to describe the scene of Amanda's bedroom, nor the events that led us here to this disturbing end. I don't want to voice the possibility of her not making a full recovery, especially not to a person who has trusted me with his own life in the past.

I can feel his tense silence trailing behind me as we exit the hall and make our way to the lobby. Sitting down in a secluded corner, I lean my elbows on my knees, staring at the floor as he takes a seat next to me.

"Just tell me." He urges quietly.

Closing my eyes, I swallow a knot of emotion in my throat before clearing it.

"I...uh… I found her." I reply, unsteadily, my tone emitting low and raspy.

I can feel him staring at me, waiting for me continue, to give some kind of sign that Amanda is unharmed and healthy, but this is not the outcome either of had anticipated when I left the squad room.

"Found her how?" Fin finally prods.

"She was in the bed...unconscious." I force out, barely glancing at him through a sheen of tears. "She was….cold…. Her skin was blue. I couldn't hear her breathing."

His face glazes over with shock and horror, the creases in his forehead deepening quickly. I can see him struggling for words, for some kind of explanation, but there isn't a single justification that I can see fit to give him.

"I starting performing rescuing breathing." I continue, the words spilling quickly and halting from my lips. "I called for the ambulance, and kept breathing for her until she came to."

"So she's all right." Fin replies, more of a hopeful statement than a question.

"Hopefully." I say, glancing back towards the ground and pushing my fingers into my hair. "I have no idea how long she was there for before I got there."

"Well, do you know who did this?" Fin finally asks, after a moment's of hesitation.

I shake my head slowly, pursing my lips against tears that immediately fill my eyes. He's ready to believe that some stranger attacked her or broke into her home, rather than understand that whatever happened last night was self-inflicted. Fin has always believed the best about the people that he cares for, and it hurts more than I thought it would to shatter that ideal.

"Fin…" I finally whisper, huskily. "This wasn't what you think."

"What is it then?" He demands, and I can hear the anxiety in his voice.

"She drank enough to almost kill herself." I burst out through clenched teeth, turning my eyes upon him with a helpless, watery gaze.

My voice is strained with fear and anger, and somewhere in between disbelief, because I don't want accept that this is happening either.

His silence rings sharp in my ears, and I can sense him grappling with the reality of this moment, and the pain of understanding just how lost Amanda truly is. I can hardly stand to look him, afraid that the confession of my part in this will spill forth when I see the dismay written across his face. Clasping my hands over my face, I try to push back the tears that pound relentlessly for freedom at my eyes, but once my shoulders begin to shudder, I feel him touch my back with reassurance. The gentle offering of comfort causes me to collapse, and I turn into him, succumbing fully to the force of emotion.

Wrapping his arm around me, he remains steady beside me until I can overcome the tide of tears. It takes several long minutes for me to quiet, and my breathing to slow, yet still he hold me close, despite my deepening guilt.

"We're going to get her some help." He murmurs, quietly, at last, "This isn't the end. We won't let it be."


	10. Denouement

_Amanda_

Beyond the darkness of my lids there's a crisp, white world although the edges aren't quite clear enough for me to see. A slow, steady beeping serenades my ear, and when my eyelids flutter, I catch glimpses of white bedsheets and taupe walls. There's a familiar, sweet scent in the air, above the medicinal, sterile environment clogging my lungs - a smell I associate with soft copper locks and deep brown eyes; gentle, olive hands, and a smile to light the world.

I wonder if this is a dream. She couldn't possibly be here. Wherever 'here' is….

With a groan, I begin to blink slowly. My eyes feel dry and swollen inside of my skull, a visceral sensation. As consciousness grips me, I realize that it's not only my eyes, but my mouth as well which holds a dank, horrific taste.

Confusion washes over me as I manage to open my eyes enough to glance about the room, a stark, unfamiliar place that my scrambled brain slowly makes out as a hospital. It's then that the memories begin to return to me, slowly at first, then faster and faster, filling my mind with the endless hopelessness which had gripped me. I can remember leaving the precinct, and texting Fin as I wandered through a quiet bodega across the street from SVU, searching for my next drink. I remember trudging home and opening the first can. The rest is a blur of quickly emptying bottles, and more tears than I knew I could shed…. Then a chunk of time of nonexistent memories, a black hole of the unknown which causes a fearful dread to take hold of me.

 _What have I done?_  The question echoes through my mind as fight my way out of the heavy fog of sleep. I can feel the plastic tubing at my nose now, and the IV taped to my arm, anchoring me to the bed.

"Amanda?" Her voice stops me, drawing my dazed, hazy gaze in her direction.

The image is fuzzy at first as I watch her rise from the chair next to my bed, her expression twisted in concern as she reaches out to touch my arm.

"Everything's okay now." She murmurs in a soft, reassuring tone, shoving sharp emotion in my chest.

"Wh-what happened?" I ask, and my voice emits rough and husky. "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital." I hear Fin's voice at my other side, and I turn my head towards him quickly, feeling a sledgehammer of panic swinging towards my chest.

I don't know what exactly has landed me here, but I can guess that it is my own fault and my own mistakes once more. I've fucked up again, in the worst possible way, and my first instinct is to escape their concerned gazes, and barely veiled pity.

"H-How?" I stutter, my gaze bouncing between them.

I watch them lock eyes from across the bed, frowning in hesitation, and I barely swallow the panic washing over me in suffocating waves.

"What happened?" I demand, hearing sharp terror slice through my tone.

"Y-you…" Olivia begins, a strained expression crossing her features before she glances away quickly, but not before I see the tears glittering in her eyes.

The display of emotion sends another wave of desperation through my chest. She's treated me with such callous regard throughout the last week that I imagined I'd never see her shed a tear over me ever again, but now, she is here at my bedside, clutched in anguish and I am left wondering in confusion at what could've possibly changed her vicious resentment.

"Liv?" I whisper, my voice raspy.

Her hand slips away from my arm, and I watch in growing bewilderment as she veils her watery gaze with her fingers.

Swinging my wide eyes towards Fin, I search his gaze for some kind of explanation, with the small hope that it will fall short of the nightmare crawling underneath Olivia's skin with alarming implications.

"Amanda…" He says, uneasily, glancing towards Olivia.

Her shoulders are stiff, and when the silence prolongs, she turns away, pacing towards the end of the bed. Her wordless expression grabs at my body with forceful desperation, demanding some logical explanation for this bizzare scene.

"What is it?" I cry, feeling stinging tears at my lids.

"She found you in your apartment." Fin explains, slowly, reaching out to touch my shoulder. "You'd had too many."

"H-had too many…"I repeat, feel my chest shudder with horror and denial, taking away my breath in one swift second. "No, no, I don't remember that."

"How could you when you were barely alive?" Olivia's low, trembling tone drags my eyes back to her, where she leans on the end of the bed.

Her features are taut with the tears still glinting in her eyes, and as I stare back at her, the meaning of the look on her face settles upon me with haunting tangibility. A ringing takes over my ears as I suddenly become viscerally aware of every sensation touching my body, from the texture of the bedsheets to the emotion clamping my chest in a relentless grip. I listen to myself breathe, grappling with the idea I was so close to never tasting air again.

"Olivia…" I hear Fin caution, softly.

"I found you unconscious." She continues in a trembling tone, ignoring Fin's words. "You weren't even breathing, Amanda. You could've died if I hadn't been there to stop you from choking on your own vomit."

I swallow hard as quick tears rush to my eyes, a fresh wave of emotion, steadier and stronger than the first. Remembering all the times that I thought of ending my own life, I shudder, realizing that this reality is much harder than I thought it would be. I imagined that my disappearing from their lives would be nothing of consequence, that I would fade as a bad memory, or and aftertaste that lingers far too long.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Amanda?" She asks in a low, strained tone.

I lift my eyes slowly back to her, hardly able to do much more than blink in shock. I'd always thought my death would be clear cut decision, either a rogue bookie's or my own. An accident, something out of my control, is almost a harder concept to wrap my mind around. It terrifies me that a mere coincidence has saved my life, nothing more than the illogical timetable of the universe. I stutter, my tongue languishing in horror behind my slack jaw.

"I think she gets it, Liv." Fin cuts in, quietly.

"Amanda." She repeats, holding up a hand to signal for his silence.

He frowns, casting me a perplexed glance, and I know he only fears for my state of mind. He isn't privy to our personal conflicts, and the numerous clashes that have led us to this deadly denouement. Through his eyes, he's watching an apathetic lieutenant reprimand her subordinate mere hours after they escaped death, but I don't want him to fight for me. Whether her admonishment is fair or not in light of the circumstances I hardly contemplate. I've expected little else, and with what honestly I still possess, know I deserve much more.

"Y-yes…" I whisper, against sharp tears as I gaze down towards my hands.

"Your BAC was at .36%. That's four times the legal limit. You're lucky you've made it through without brain damage." She continues, ignoring the admission she's wrung from my lips, her voice shaking on the verge of anger; but I hardly flinch.

I'm not lucky. Not in the least. If anything, I am fool; better yet, a poor excuse for one.

My vision blurs as I sense her converging back upon me. She sinks to the bed next to me, grasping my arms. A cry chokes from my lips as she shakes me, the motion reckless at first glance; but only I can feel her trembling in fear.

"Are you listening?" She demands, her own voice strangled in emotion, beneath layers of desperation. "I walked into that room, and I thought you were gone, Amanda. My worst fears come to life. All those nights I laid awake, wondering whether you'd made it through the night…. It was nothing compared to seeing you lying there…"

I can hardly stand to look her as quick, insurmountable emotion takes hold of my body, crushing me with shame and absolute worthlessness. The brutality of her discovering my drunkenness is a pale comparison to this vengeful reality. There is no hiding now in the cruel, stark light of the naked truth; no second chances when I have squandered even my life with these hopeless pursuits. What lies I might have told her in the past would ring hollow, for now she's holding nothing but a resurrected corpse in her hands. The guilt encompasses me so strong that I can hardly breathe, much less cry out with the inner torment.

She releases my arm, only to grab my face, her fingers pleading for me to look at her; and when I do, the pain wrestling in her gaze strikes a loathing self hatred through my bones. I've run from every sense of responsibility, afraid to claim what terrible and selfish decisions I have made, but gazing into her eyes, I cannot escape any longer. Every single time I've hurt her plays through my mind like a film reel, flashing images and pictures faster and faster, racing towards the end.

"Why?" I whisper at last as tears rush to fill my eyes. "Why didn't you just let me go?"

Her expression wrenches tight in grief, and she lowers her head as a tear slips from her eye. When she lifts her eyes to mine once more, she whispers, "I've let you go many times, but not this time - not where I can't follow."

My throat seizes at her words, disbelief spiraling through me at her impassioned exclamation. I've been wholeheartedly convinced of her hatred towards me, an absolute that I have written into existence with my own horrible choices, a just consequence for every time I've wronged her. If I dare to believe otherwise now, I'm sure I will crumble with the fear of ill placed hope.

I'm staring at her, speechless, silent, stray tears slipping down my cheeks when she draws back slowly. She seems shocked at her own outburst as she rises from the bed, her hands leaving me achingly bereft. The familiar ache for her presence and her touch fills my chest with an almost physical pain, but should I even dare to wonder at her intent behind her fearful gaze and impetuous embraces?

My dazed gaze follows her rigid movements as she straightens from the bed, squaring her shoulders. She blinks away the glimmering tears in her eyes, as she clears her throat of the thick knot of emotion.

"I just want you safe." She murmurs, meeting my eyes at last. "That's all I've ever wanted. Your safety and your happiness."

It's a vow she's held to since the beginning of our affair, when we questioned whether we should continue at all. I'd wanted her so badly that I had hardly considered parting ways, and though I sensed her apprehension, she'd kissed me and promised to me that as long as I was happy she'd never leave. Recalling that moment, my heart begs to believe that her words now are an echo of that time, a promise to stand by my side til the end.

My lips part with a quiver, but I can't speak as she turns away quickly, her head down. Although I can't imagine what trauma I've just put her through, a part of me selfishly longs for her strength, her ability to heave me up from the place to which I have fallen. If I could but have her arms around me one more time, maybe I could finally rise up from the quagmire of addiction and conquer at last…

But even with her back turned, I sense her crumbling, a fortress I've strived so hard to invade turning to dust at my feet.

"Please talk to her, Fin." She says at last, the strength in her voice wavering on the edge of collapse.

She strides quickly towards the door, her head lowered.

"Liv…" I finally managed to speak, my voice quaking as she heaves the heavy hospital door open.

"Amanda, let her go." Fin says, stepping close to my side and laying a hand on my shoulder.

"B-but…" I begin, gesturing towards the closing the door as emotion fills my throat.

"Listen, Amanda," He says, a frown deepening on his brow, "If you want to throw your life away that's your decision, but it's not over if you don't want it to be. You've got a lot left to live for."

"Like what?" I whisper, tearfully, glancing towards the door, where the impression of Olivia's presence seems to linger.

"She never once stopped worrying about you." He tells me softly, following my line of sight. "When you didn't answer your phone this morning, you should've seen the panic on her face."

I begin to scoff despite the warming in my chest because the wounded, cynical part of me is convinced of her hatred towards me, her utter disgust with me.

"Amanda, that woman out there may be the only reason you're alive right now. She breathed in your mouth. She gave you her own oxygen and she'd give you the shirt off her back if you asked." Fin continues, firmly, stepping into my line of sight with an almost desperate expression. "We'd do anything to help you, but it doesn't mean shit if  _you_  don't care."

I tear my eyes from his, clenching my jaw against emotion.

"I just… I just want her to love me again." I whisper, my tone uneven and halting.

I've never directly admitted our relationship to Fin, but I know he isn't blind or oblivious to our interactions, and the words spill from my tongue now, because I just want someone to understand. I want someone to hear the pain that drove me to do what I did last night, and accept it as a just explanation.

"I know," Fin replies, quietly, "But this isn't fair to her or to you. You gotta be the person that she wants to be with first, and you have to stop cheating yourself of your potential. I promise I will always be here, but you've got to get yourself help, Amanda."

A tear slips down my cheeks, and I tear my hand from his in order to dash it away. I know what he is saying is right. I've always known, but for the first time, perhaps in all my life, I want to call for help. With my throat spasming in tears, I want scream it out with all the strength in my lungs because I can't walk down this road alone any longer

"What do I do, Fin?" I cry out. 'Just tell me what to do..."

"You don't give up." He insists, taking me by the arms, and pulling me close. "Check yourself in somewhere, and stay there as long as you have to."

"Rehab?" I ask, unsteadily.

"If that's what it takes." He says, quietly but firmly, "I spent enough time watching people die in Narcotics, and I don't want to see it happen to you."

I stare back at him, blinking slowly against tears as I realize the impact of his words. I've shed far too many tears to count in the past six months, but this feeling is new shocking. The knowledge that I was as good as dead grips me with haunting clarity of just how directionless my life has become. I thought I had nothing to live for, with only addiction to define me. I thought that escaping into nothingness would be some kind of mercy, an angel of death to rescue me from the endless nights of torture; but now I have kissed death, and the putrid taste is far more than I can bear.

"Okay…" I whisper, at last, ignoring the fear trembling in my chest, "I'll go…."

"You promise?" Fin prods as relief begins to bleed into expression.

"Yes," I whisper, "I promise."

I've promised many times, in endless way, but this time, upon awakening from the outskirts of death, it's different. This time, I want nothing more than to escape and be free. This time, it's really over.


	11. Dreams

_Olivia_

My mother's drinking rose to a critical point when I reached my teen years, at an age when I needed her acceptance and love the most, but also when I possessed the understanding of what had been my conception. Often, when I arrived home from school, she'd lock herself into her office, claiming papers needed grading or lessons needed planning, but it was a weak facade for the truth. Finding her passed out across the desk, I would gather her limp body in my arms and carry her up to bed. It was easy to feel pity for her then, when she was quiet and helpless. The regret of my anger towards her would flood over me, only to return the next day when she was lucid enough to blame me for things that were far outside of my fifteen year old hands.

Perhaps, it is the same with Amanda. I'd made myself a promise when I was holding her near lifeless body, but now mere hours later, when she's stared back at me, wondering at why I'd saved her, I've barely managed to stand by it.

Rushing past the nurses and visitors, I find my way to the elevator. I haven't fully conceptualized what I am going to do beyond this point, but the sole thought of escaping the irrational urges surging through my body drives me down towards the ground floor.

The elevator is full and I stand near the door, hands clenched into fists at my sides. My jaw aches from my teeth being clamped shut, but it's all I can do not to break down in tears. I've held my emotions under a tenuous control since the medics arrived to take Amanda to the hospital, and now, they are bursting forth, striving to break from my heart and through my mouth.

As soon as the doors slide open, I stride out into the lobby and towards the exit. As I rush through the door, I suck in a lungful of air, filled with the familiar scents of the city rather than the medicinal, sterile environment in the hospital.

I can still feel the warmth of her body beneath my hands, but when I close my eyes all I can see is her lying motionless beneath me. The image is haunting only mere hours after the incident, and I can hardly bear to think of how it will mutate with time. This is my future with her, forever wondering which time I hold her will be the last, gripped with the thought that if she did it once by accident that she could do it again, and much easier, with intent.

I come to a wobbling halt on the sidewalk, reaching out to grasp the side of the brick building as I attempt to breathe beyond the crushing weight of reality. Pressing my fingers to my eyes, I grind my teeth against tears even as the bloom beneath my fingertips.

My heart clenches in my chest with an almost physical ache as I imagine the moment of her escaping the grasp of this life, knowing that the pain will be greater should I love her this deeply to the very end. I've cut myself off so many times, only to return at her smallest whimper, but this time, I cannot withstand the agony, even with the guilt of abandoning her upon me.

Dragging my hand over my face, I push away from the wall, and stride into the parking lot, and towards the street. My squad car is still on the curb at Amanda's apartment, but it's the least of my worries. I know if I return to that place, what little function my mind still possesses will escape me.

Instead, I hail a cab and return to the precinct. At least there, I can pretend some sense of normalcy still exists - even if it's only in my head.

**xxxxxx**

Fin doesn't return to the precinct for several hours, and while typically, I would be frustrated with the lack of staff, I am almost grateful for the monstrous workload. Managing several responsibilities at once leaves no time for pondering, however, even the all consuming nature of my job cannot dull the guilt working its way through my body. I realize that I panicked inside the hospital room, triggered by memories of my mother and the similarities between my childhood and the present situation.

In many ways, I feel as if I no longer know Amanda, but beyond the grasp of the situation, I'm crushed with the desire to have the woman I once loved back - and with the understanding that I may have damaged that quest with my unbridled emotions. I wanted her to realize the serious implications of her overdose, but it pains me to think that Fin handled that conversation far better than me, someone who was her partner for two years.

How inadequate am I, trailed by my own trauma and lack of understanding?

When I notice Fin stepping off the elevator towards evening time, I can only regard him with apprehension. My heart cries out for any shred of good news, but also bitter with jealousy over their platonic connection. I begged with her for months to take control of her life, and if he has managed to make some better impression than me in a few sparse hours, I'm not sure as to how I will feel.

I'm sitting at his desk across from Nick where we are currently cross-referencing different databases with MOs as he approaches. I cast him a few quick glances, shifting in discomfort when I can't decipher his expression.

"Oh, hey, Fin, how's Amanda?" Nick asks, immediately as he draws close.

"She's doing better." Fin replies, his answer and tone neutral.

I glance away at the mention of her, ignoring every urge to demand every minute detail of their conversation. I flip through several mug shots, although the faces and features of the men on the screen hardly compute.

"Liv," Fin's voice catches my attention, leaving no room for me to disregard, "You got a minute?"

My stomach surges with dread as I glance up quickly to see him nodding towards my office, his expression insistent. At this point, I do not know what to expect from Amanda, and I have no way of knowing whether this conversation will be good or bad.

"Yeah, sure." I nod, standing from the desk, and spreading my hands over my thighs in a nervous gesture. "Nick, just let me know if you get anything."

"Sure thing, Sarg." He answers, easily, although his eyes follow me with weighty inquiry.

Turning quickly, I head towards the office, my head lowered. As soon as we are inside, I shut the door quickly and lean on it.

"Fin, if this is about Amanda -" I begin, shaking my head.

"You need to go talk to her." He cuts me off, immediately, despite my resistance.

"I know all I need to know." I whisper, glancing up at him despite the tears stinging my eyes. "She does not want my help."

"You came at her pretty hard, Liv." He says, his tone quiet against the harsh condemnation.

Pursing my lips against further emotion, I glance away for half a second.

"I know that." I reply at last in a rough whisper. "But, trust me, I have tried the gentle approach."

"This isn't about you, Liv." He replies at last.

Although his tone is far from condemning, I feel the sting of it nonetheless. I glance away quickly, swallowing every bitter word which lunges up upon my tongue. He doesn't know the months of agony in which I watched her slowly destroy herself, tearing us both to pieces from the inside out. He does not know the road to ruin which led us here, and the altar of sacrifice which I have laid my heart upon in order to save her. He doesn't know the half of it.

"You don't understand, Fin." I reply at last, my voice trembling beneath the tears. "This isn't the first time I've to help her... And I have failed. Every. Single. Time."

"Olivia…" He says, softly, stepping closer, "I already know you love her."

I snap my eyes towards him, sharply, glaring at him through glittering tears. I am not angry towards the fact that he is now aware of our previous relationship as the information is moot now; but the fact that Amanda spilled so much trust and truth upon him is a hard slap in my face. I've already suffered through the loss of her faith in me more than once, but it never hurts any less.

"She told you." I say at last, struggling to sear the exasperation from my voice as I drop my hand from the door and turn away.

"I don't think anyone needed to tell me, but yes." He replies, watching me with a deep frown as I pace away from him.

Wandering towards the desk, I lean against it and rub one hand over my face as if to wipe away the sting of tears.

"What else?" I ask, stiffly.

"She told me what happened between you two last night." He explains, although I can detect his paraphrasing their conversation.

"She was drinking on the job, Fin. What else was I supposed to do?" I snap, snatching my hand from my face in order to glare back at him. "I cannot treat her any differently than anyone else inside this precinct."

"Liv, I'm not blaming you, and I don't think Amanda is either." Fin cuts in to my desperate excuses. "You're not responsible for this."

The tightness in my throat clinches even harder at his words and I duck my face once more, pressing my hand to my chest to dull the convulsions of emotion there.

"How am I not?" I whisper at last.

"Look, Liv," He replies in a softer tone, "I've spent a lot of time around addicts, and I can tell you the same thing about all of them.  _They_ put the needle in their arm.  _They_  had that drink. You didn't make Amanda overdose."

"I was angry at her, Fin." I respond at last, feeling a tear slip from my eye. "After Nadari, I lost sight. I treated her with little regard for her best interests. That is no way to command."

Fin is quiet for a moment, and I know what he is thinking. We should have never become involved if we wanted to maintain any type of professional relationship. Romance has only ever served to harm my career when it comes to co-workers, and I should know better. He doesn't need to tell me, and I'm grateful that the words do not leave his mouth. I have blamed myself enough for ten people's accusations and perhaps he understands that.

"Nobody's perfect, Liv." He says at last. "Not you, and not Amanda. That's why I think you should go talk to her."

I shoot him a watery, apprehensive gaze with a low, skeptical scoff.

"Come on, you know I don't involve myself in other people's business, but this is serious." Fin insists. "She needs to know we haven't abandoned her."

I twist my fingers in my shirt collar, and clench my teeth against another rush of emotion at his plaintive plea. The word "abandoned" strikes a cord deep within me because I know that feeling all too well, and imagining Amanda lying in the hospital alone, imagining that I hate her, seizes me. In my heart, I know Fin is right. It would only be selfish of me to wallow in self pity while she faces what is tantamount to life or death.

"Okay…" I whisper at last. "I'll go."

**xxxxxx**

_The Next Day_

It's early morning, and the halls of Mercy General are quiet, save for the occasional nurse or visitor. I'm grateful for the lack of social interaction as I make my way towards Amanda's room with my head lowered. Remembering that my last walk down this path was one of escape, I feel ashamed.

After my conversation with Fin last night, I went home only to be plagued by nightmares of losing her before I ever had the chance to speak to her again. I awoke in a cold sweat, my heart hammering in my chest, nearly crying in relief when I realized the terrifying scenario was only a dream.

Now, only mere seconds from seeing her again, I can't help but feel anxiety grip me. Fin seems adamant that she desires my approval and comfort, but I can hardly imagine it after the previous week of punishment that I gave her. Perhaps it was more my own guilt that drove me from her room yesterday than fear or anger. Maybe it was all three.

Glancing up, I catch sight of her room, only yards away. My steps slow as I draw a deep breath, mustering my courage. As I draw close, I can see the interior of the room through the open door, and Amanda standing with her back turned next to the bed.

My heels click against the tile floor, catching her attention, although I would've wished for just one more moment of preparation, one more second to watch her, unnoticed. She turns, her expression a mixture of both surprise and apprehension. I realize what she may expect from me, and I can almost see the slightest flinch as our eyes meet.

"Hey," I say, softly, ignoring the dull ache that goes through my chest as I glance over her face and body language.

"Hey." She replies, before glancing back towards a duffel bag that she's packing on the bed. "I was just getting ready to check myself out of here."

 _Fin must have helped her with that._  I think, glancing towards the bag.  _I could've done that…_

"They're releasing you?" I say, ignoring the jealous and pathetic thought which skips through my mind, unchecked.

"Yeah…" Amanda replies, quietly, fidgeting with the strap of the bag. "My BAC is below the legal limit so I'm technically allowed to drive, but…."

Her voice trails off, a frown crossing her features. She glances away, and I can only wonder at her thoughts. Every part of me wants to jump to her assistance and offer to take her wherever she wants to go, but I came here with a purpose.

"Amanda…" I begin, her name breaching my lips with heavy purpose.

She glances up at me, her brow furrowing as if she's afraid of what I will say, and I rush to complete my omission.

"I came to apologize." I say, stepping further into the room, as her eyes dart across my expression, as if she searches for some trick within my words.

"For what?" She asks, with a quick shrug as she turns back towards the bag, using it to avoid eye contact.

"For leaving." I murmur, reaching out to touch her arm. "Yesterday was extremely shocking and stressful, and I didn't exactly know how to handle it."

My throat tightens at the feeling of her warm skin beneath my fingers, alive and flourishing with blood and oxygen. It is a relief in and of itself to feel her life force next to mine, and I'd be grateful, even if she yanks away from me - but she doesn't. She glances down at my arm, then up towards me slowly.

"I think we've both messed up." I continue, holding my tone steady despite the way I want to collapse as my gaze locks with her clear, cerulean one.

It's a relief to see her free of the alcohol's hold after the way that I found her. For several long hours I thought that my last memory of her would be our whiskey driven fight inside my office. Simply seeing her standing her is a blessing I hadn't fully appreciated yesterday, and I have to clear my throat to continue.

"I understand that I allowed our personal conflict to get in the way of our professional one, and I take responsibility for that-"

"Liv, stop." She cuts me off, quietly, her eyes darting from mine.

I halt, swallowing hard at the sadness in her tone. I can't sense animosity or rebellion, neither of the emotions that I have come to associate with our conversations, but her bleak tone is almost worse.

"Stop apologizing." She continues at last. "It's not your fault."

"Well, I could've handled the situation better." I begin, although I'm reeling at the meek tenor of her voice.

"I understand if you want nothing to do with me." She states, although I can hear the tremor of tears in her voice.

She grabs her bag and roughly zips it, her motion rigid despite the way I can see her fingers trembling.

"That couldn't be further from the truth." I insist, shocked and confused by her words.

From my conversation with Fin, I had gathered that she wanted my acceptance and understanding, but perhaps things have changed since last night.

"It doesn't matter anyways." She says at last, lifting a quick hand to wipe at the tears.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my anxiety rising at her words, the fear of her spiraling once more.

"I'm going away." She says, finally looking up at me, her blue eyes glimmering with unshed tears, and beneath, fear.

"Going away where?" I demand, grasping her shoulders before she can turn away.

She hardly fights me, but I can see her lower lip and chin quivering as she struggles to glance up at me.

"A rehabilitation center." She says at last, her voice thready with tears.

Her mouth forms a line against the emotion and she glances away from me with another shrug, but I know the cavalier motion is only a cover.

I stare back at her, caught off guard for a moment at her explanation. For a long second, I can hardly believe that what she said is true. I never the thought the day would come where she accepted outside help. Now, as the reality of her statement settles upon me, I can sense her shame and embarrassment at the necessity of this outcome.

"Amanda...that's good." I whisper, lifting a hand to touch her cheek.

I can feel a tear slip down against my finger and I nudge her face towards mine, pulling her closer. Finally, she glances up at me, tears pooling quickly in her eyes at my compassion.

"I'm scared." She whispers, reaching up to clutch my arm as the tears spill over her lids. "What if I fail?"

"Shh…" I hush her, pulling her to my chest. "You won't."

Her fingers grasp at my sides, and I can feel her shivering as she presses her face into my shoulder.

"Of course you'd say that." She whispers. "You already believe in me, and that's the scariest thing."

I close my eyes and cradle her head as the understanding of her fear brings tears to my own eyes. She is afraid of my disappointment and my anger, and it pains me to realize I have made these my first reactions towards her in recent months. Instead of expecting understanding and compassion, she expects rejection and frustration.

"I'm sorry, Amanda." I whisper into her hair. "I'm sorry for letting you down."

"What do you mean?" She whimpers.

"I'm sorry for giving up." I clarify through the thickness of emotion as he stroke her hair. "I stopped trying to help you. I stopped believing in you."

"It's ok." She whispers with a sniffle. "You shouldn't have had to. You were right… I should've done this by myself a long time ago."

"Just because I was right doesn't mean it was for the best." I insist, pulling her back in order to look into her eyes. "You shouldn't have to do this alone."

She blinks quickly, and I can see her grappling for words, shocked at my sudden change in attitude.

"Y-you don't hate me?" She finally whispers, her brow furrowing in uncertainty.

"God, no." I whisper, passionately, clasping both my hands to her cheeks. "I never did."

Her face crumples beneath another wave of tears, and she pushes herself into my chest. Her arms wind tightly around me as if I am her final lifeline, but this time it doesn't terrify me. This time, I feel something that I never felt with my mother. Hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to complete this fic as is but there may be a sequel in the future :-)


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